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READY FOR ANYTHING. IN THE SHAPE OF FUN 

































































































































































































































































































































































































































































X 




V vv 




SILVER RAGS 


BY 


V 


WILLIS BOYD ALLEN 

Author of “Pine Cones” 


“ Like beggared princes of the wood, 
In silver rags the birches stood.” 

3 ^ 


/ 


BOSTON 

D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY 

FRANKLIN AND HAWLEY STREETS 





Copyright, 18S6, 
by 


Willis Boyd Allen 





THE LITTLE PRINCESS 


ISADORE 












CONTENTS 


Chapter 



Page 

I. 

Overboard! 

• 

. 

7 

II. 

Where is the Watch ? 



. 21 

III. 

The Trial .... 



41 

IV. 

Fire!. 

♦ 


52 

V. 

In the Den .... 



74 

VI. 

A Small Hero .... 



. 92 

VII. 

Oak Leaves and Hay 



. no 

VIII. 

Poor Tom ! 



. 129 

IX. 

A Mountain Camp . 

• • 

• 

137 

X. 

The Storm .... 

• • 

• 

. 158 

XI. 

The Great Base-Ball Match . 

• • 

• 

. 172 

XII. 

Hunted to Earth 


• 

. 185 

XIII. 

Found at Last.... 

• • 

• 

. 196 

XIV. 

Quiet Days at The Pines 

• • 

• 

. 207 

XV. 

Good-bye! 

. . 

• 

. 216 
















































. 






































. . 


















SILVER RAGS. 


CHAPTER I. 

OVERBOARD. 

H ELP! Help!” 

It was a girl's voice, clear and sharp with 
distress. The cry echoed over Loon Pond, and 
rang through the woods which surrounded its 
dimpled waters. 

In a small, flat-bottomed boat, about fifty yards 
from the shore, crouched a young girl of perhaps 
sixteen years, her face blanched with terror as she 
gazed into the depths beneath and uttered again 
and again that piercing cry: 

“ Help ! O quick, quick ! Help ! ” 

Something dark rose slowly to the surface of 
the pond, and a small white hand waved franti¬ 
cally in the air a moment, then sank, struggling, 
out of sight. Again it came up, this time more 


7 


8 


SILVER RAGS. 


quietly, and again disappeared, while the occupant 
of the boat screamed louder, her voice breaking 
into sobs. The only oar to be seen was floating 
quietly on the water, almost within reach. 

“ Help!” 

Would no one come ? The birches that crowned 
the hill-top close by shivered in the sunlight; on 
the farther shore, the pines stood motionless in 
dark, silent ranks. 

Just as the object in the water rose for the third 
and last time, scarcely breaking the surface, the 
bushes hiding the nearest bank suddenly parted, 
and a boy dashed out into the pond which was 
shallow at this point, with a smooth, sandy beach. 

“ Hold on, Kittie, I’m coming! ” he shouted 
lustily, splashing ahead with all his might, and 
making the water fly in every direction. 

Presently he sank deeper, and began to swim 
with such powerful strokes that half a dozen of 
them brought him nearly alongside the boat. 

“ There, there, Randolph ! ” screamed Kittie 
Percival, pointing to the sinking form. 

Randolph gave one look, doubled over in the 
water, and with a desperate effort dived headlong 
in a line to cut off the drowning girl before she 


OVERBOARD. 


9 


reached the bottom. After a few seconds which 
to Kittie seemed days, he reappeared, holding his 
helpless burden, and clutched the stern of the 
boat. The poor girl’s head lay back on his shoul¬ 
der, white, cold, and motionless. 

“Haven’t—you — got — an oar?” puffed Ran¬ 
dolph. 

“ It fell out when I wasn’t noticing,” sobbed 
Kittie, “ and floated off. We both leaned over to 
reach it, and Pet fell into the pond.” 

“All right, I’ll swim for it. Here goes.” And 
allowing his feet to rise behind him, with one arm 
around the girl and the other hand still grasping 
the boat, he struck out, frog-fashion, for the shore. 
Presently he resumed his upright position, but 
found the water was still over his head. A dozen 
more pushes, and the second experiment was suc¬ 
cessful. He announced that he felt bottom under 
his feet, and presently the bow of the boat grated 
on the sand. Kittie now jumped into the water 
beside him, regardless of skirts and boots, and 
assisted him in raising the unconscious girl, from 
whose garments and long, bright hair the water 
streamed as they lifted her tenderly in their 
arms, and carried her to the shore. 


IO 


SILVER RAGS. 


While they were thus engaged, a third actor 
appeared on the scene, no other than “ Captain 
Bess” Percival herself, whom, with her sister Kittie, 
the readers of Pine Cones will remember. 

“O Kittie, Kittie, what has happened ? Did she 
fall overboard ? Is she alive ? ” 

“We don’t know,” panted Randolph, answering 
her last question. “ She was just going down the 
third time. Where shall we take her ? ” 

“Up to the Indians’ tent,” said Bess. “It’s 
only a few steps from here. I left Tom and Ruel 
there, while I came to look for you. Here, let me 
help.” 

“ Bring her lilies,” added Kittie sadly. “ Poor 
little Pet, she had only gathered two! ” 

The mournful procession took up its march 
through the woods, Bess and Randolph carrying 
Pet between them. Kittie followed, with the lilies, 
helping when she could. 

Pet Sibley was a girl slightly younger than her 
companions, who lived near the Percivals in Bos¬ 
ton. When the invitation came from uncle Will 
Percival in June for them to spend their summer 
vacation, or a part of it, with him and aunt Puss 
— as the children called his wife — at The Pines, 


OVERBOARD. 


3 


the girls begged permission, which was heartily 
granted, to bring their friend Pet with them. She 
was a frank, good-hearted girl, with light, rippling 
hair, blue eyes, and a sunny disposition which 
always looked on the bright side of everything and 
perhaps was a bit too forgetful of the earnest in 
life. If that, and her evident pleasure in her own 
pretty face, were faults, they were very forgivable 
ones; for she was sweet and true at heart, after 
all. The fun of the whole thing was, that she had 
never lived in the country. She was a thoroughly 
city-bred girl; had travelled in Europe when she 
was a wee child, had lived two or three years in 
hotels and “ apartments,” and knew absolutely 
nothing of field and forest. A more complete 
contrast to sober, thoughtful Kittie, and energetic 
“ Captain Bess,” could hardly be imagined. So it 
came about that, as often happens with people of 
widely varying dispositions, all three loved one 
another dearly. 

Randolph was in the second class at the Boston 
Latin School, and had won three prizes that spring, 
two for scholarship, and one for drilling. 

On this particular morning Ruel, a guide, trap¬ 
per, and man-of-all-work at Mr. Percival’s farm in 


2 


SILVER RAGS. 


the heart of the Maine woods, had taken the young 
folks off for a tramp to Loon Pond, a pretty sheet 
of water some four miles long by one and a half 
broad. They had enjoyed themselves immensely 
— Randolph, Tom, and the three girls — running 
races along the forest paths, gathering mosses, 
ferns and queer white “Indian pipes,” or listen¬ 
ing to Ruel’s quaint sayings as he talked of birds 
and wild creatures of the wood, with not a little 
philosophy thrown in. 

At the distance of about a furlong from the 
pond, they had come out upon a little clearing, on 
the further edge of which was a rude tent of can¬ 
vas. In the doorway sat an Indian squaw, with 
one tiny brown pappoose in her arms, and another 
playing on the grass near by. The father of the 
babies she said, on inquiry, was off somewhere in 
the woods. She had a few baskets for sale, and 
while Bess and the two boys stopped to look at 
these and play with the babies, Kittie and Pet had 
run on ahead, and having reached the shore of the 
pond, had come upon an old boat, apparently used 
for a long time past by no one, except perhaps the 
Indian when he was not too lazy to fish. Into this 
boat they had climbed, screaming and laughing, 



OVERBOARD. 


13 


girl-fashion* and hastily pushing it off with the one 
oar which lay in the bottom, had been trying to 
collect a bunch of lilies to surprise the rest, when 
the accident happened as Kittie described it. 

It took but a few minutes for the mournful little 
group to reach the camp, though the distance 
seemed miles. Pet showed not the slightest sign 
of life and her pretty hair almost touched the 
ground as it hung over Randolph’s shoulder and 
swayed to and fro as he walked. 

Ruel’s quick eye was the first to catch sight of 
them, and to take in the situation. 

“ Bring her here,” he said sharply, springing to 
his feet and wasting no time in questions. “ Now 
turn her on her face — so — there, that’ll do. Poor 
little gal! I dunno whether we c’n bring her to, 
but we c’n try, anyhow.” 

“ Shall I run for the doctor, Ruel ? ” asked Tom, 
trembling from head to foot. 

" No doctor nearer’n six mile,” said the guide 
grimly. “ By the time he’d git here we shouldn’t 
need him, either ways. Bess, you’n’ Kittie take 
her inside the tent—here, let me lift her — git 
her wet clothes off an’ roll her in blankets. Grab 
’em up anywhere you c’n find ’em. I’ll fix it with 
the Injuns. Randolph, you’re wet’s a mink your¬ 
self. Take Tom with you and run fer home. Mis’ 


14 


SILVER RAGS. 


Percival will give ye some hot tea and put ye to 
bed.” 

“ But what shall I do, Ruel ? ” asked Tom again. 

“You git a couple of them big gray shawls of 
your aunt’s an’ bring ’em in the double team to 
the back road, where this path comes out — 
remember it? ” 

“Yes, Ruel, but — ” 

“Git Tim to put the horses in, and drive. He’ll 
hurry ’nuff, once git him goin’.” 

Tom and Randolph were off like a flash, and 
Ruel turned to the squaw, who had been standing 
motionless, after having picked up her pappoose 
that Ruel had tipped over when he jumped up. 

“ Say, Moll, can’t ye take holt and help the gals 
a little ? ” 

The squaw came forward crossly enough, mum¬ 
bling and grumbling to herself, and, entering the 
tent, pulled the flap down behind her. Once 
inside, she worked harder than any of them, with 
hands as gentle and skilful as those of a hospital 
nurse. 

Fifteen minutes passed. It was a hot day in 
late June, and Ruel wiped his brow repeatedly as 
he paced to and fro before the tent. The Indian, 
he knew, would bear no interference, and her 
knowledge and experience were invaluable. 



“she had one pappoose in her arms.” 













































OVERBOARD. 


15 

“ Any signs of life ? ” he asked aloud, when he 
could bear the suspense no longer. 

Kittie put a white face out between the hang¬ 
ings, and said “ No.” 

Twenty minutes. A thrush from a thicket near 
by, sang a few notes, and stopped. The air went 
up in little waves of heat, from the tree-tops. It 
was very still. 

Suddenly there was an exclamation inside the 
tent; both girls cried out at once, and were hushed 
by the guttural tones of the Indian. 

Another long silence, almost unendurable to the 
big-hearted man outside, who felt in some way 
accountable for what had happened. 

He hid his face in his hands, and walked slowly 
off toward the thicket where the thrush had sung. 

Again there was a stir within the tent. 

“ See ! ” cried Bess joyfully. “ She moved her 
eyelids! She’s alive! She’s alive! ” 

Soon a new voice was heard behind the canvas 
— a low, troubled moan, then a pitiful crying, like 
that of a beaten child. Poor little Pet, it was 
hard, coming back to life again! She writhed in 
agony for a few minutes, crying and catching 
her breath brokenly. But at last her sweet 


16 


SILVER RAGS. 


blue eyes opened. “ Mamma! ” she said, with 
trembling lips, looking about wonderingly at her 
strange surroundings. 

“O Pet, darling, I’m so glad!” sobbed Kittie, 
falling on her knees and kissing the pale face 
again and again. “You’re all safe and alive! It 
was my fault, taking you out — of course you 
thought it was like the Public Gardens— oh, dear, 
and here are your two lilies!” And Kittie burst 
out crying afresh at sight of them. 

While she had been talking, Pet had gazed at 
her and the dark face of the Indian ‘ alternately. 
Slowly came back the memory of the walk in the 
woods, the first view of the shining lake, the laughs 
ing scramble into the boat, the fair lily faces, look^* 
ing up at her. Then, the terrible moment when 
she felt herself falling down, down, with all thet 
the world flying away from her, and only the 
thick, green, stifling water pressing against her 

face. \ 

I 

She tried to put up her little hands to shut ouq 
the picture, but she was too tightly rolled in the}' 
blanket. Then she looked up and — laughed!' 
At the same moment the Indian threw back the 
tent-flap, and beckoned to Ruel, who was hurrying 



OVERBOARD. 


I 7 


toward her at the sound of the voices. Pet lay 
swathed in cloths and blankets of all colors, as old 
Moll had snatched them from bed and floor, so that 
up to her chin she looked like a gay-colored little 
mummy. Her head, with its long golden hair, 
rested in Bessie’s lap; and a smile was on her 
lips. 

“Thank God!” exclaimed Ruel, taking off his 
woodsman’s cap. Then he dropped into his old- 
fashioned, easy drawl once more, and commenced 
active preparations for the homeward trip. 

“I—think I — can—walk — ” whispered Pet 
faintly, wriggling a little in her cocoon. 

“Wall, I’ve no doubt you c’d fly, ef we’d let ye,” 
remarked the guide, busying himself in wringing 
out her wet clothes and rolling them into a bundle ; 
V but I guess we’ll hev the fun of carryin’ of ye, 
this time. Tom’ll be back soon — ” 

“ Here he comes, now! ” interrupted Bess, as the 
boy hurried forward with his arms full of shawls. 

“Is she—is she — ?” he stammered, halting a 
few paces distant. 

“She’s all right, my boy,” said Ruel kindly. 
“ She’s ben a laughin’, and is all high fer walkin’ 
home, ef we’d let her.” 



18 


SILVER RAGS. 


The boy’s face twitched with emotion, andre 
spite of himself he could not prevent two or thi-d 
tears from rolling over his cheeks. 

“ Here’s some cordial,” he managed to saV 
“that aunt Puss said would — would be good / 
her. And uncle Will himself was at home, a^ 
will meet us at the cross-road with his team.” 

Before leaving the tent, .Ruel, at Tom’s reques 
tried to make Moll accept a small sum for her sst 
vices. But she would not take a cent. p 

“These Injuns are queer people,” said Ruef, 
leading the way with Pet in his arms, toward th . 
road. “Sometimes they do act like angels frof* 
heaven, an’ sometimes — they don’t! You neve 
know whar to hev ’em.” 

“Where does this family come from?” ask(? 
Tom, trudging beside Ruel and holding twig- 
aside from Pet’s face. 

“From up North somewhars. They won’t te 1 ! 
who they are, and I shall be glad, fer one, whe 
they leave.” jj; 

“ I shall be thankful to them as long as I livyU 
for what that woman did for Pet,” said Kittil\ 
warmly. 

“ Wall, that’s so; she was a master hand, an’ 




OVERBOARD. 


19 


• mistake. Give me an Injun fer any kind of a 
jrt you kin git in the woods.” 

Right glad were they all to find uncle Will and 
s noble grays, waiting for them at the road. Just 
lat the kind old man had suffered, sitting there 
:lplessly for the last five minutes, no one will ever 
low — except perhaps his gentle wife Eunice — 
(aunt Puss ” — with whom he talked the whole 
Jatter over, after the children had gone to bed 
mt night. 

j In a moment he had Pet in his trembling arms, 
/nd with Ruel at the reins they were all soon com- 
ortably disposed in the big wagon, and rattling 
omeward. 

How they drove up to the door of the farm-house, 
nth Pet waving her slender white hand feebly, 
etween Bess and Kittie; how aunt Puss, strong 
'Oman as she was, broke down utterly at sight of 
er, and afterward hugged her, and cried over her, 
Ind “cosseted” her, the rest of that memorable 
lay, need not be described. Enough to say that 
3 et steadily regained her strength, and by night 
was able to sit with the rest under the broad elms 
before the house and listen to uncle Percival’s 
stories. 






20 


SILVER RAGS. 


It was not until bed time that as the girls we re 
going slowly up-stairs, arm in arm, she stoppc 
suddenly, and exclaimed “ My watch ! ” 

“Your watch?” echoed the others. “ Whj * 
what’s the matter with it ?” 

“It’s lost!” * 

“Lost?” 


“I wore it to the pond this morning. It wai' 
that lovely little watch that mamma gave me las^ 
Christmas, gold and blue enamel, with my name it 1 
it. There was a chain, too, and a tiny key. Ohy 
dear, what shall I do! Where can it be ? Id 
couldn’t have fallen out, for ’twas hooked into myj 
button-hole, just as tight! ” 1 

“I can tell you what’s become of your watch,- 
Pet,” exclaimed Randolph, from the hall below. i 
“What?” I 

“ The Indians ! ” 








CHAPTER II. 


WHERE IS THE WATCH ? 

I ’M afraid/’ said Mr. Percival at breakfast next 
morning, “that your watch will not be recov¬ 
ered, Pet. I sent Ruel over to the pond two hours 
ago, and he reports that the Indians are gone, bag 
and baggage. They generally stay only a few 
weeks at a time in any one spot.” 

" I thought I saw a queer look in old Moll’s face 
when we left,” put in Ruel, joining the conversa¬ 
tion with a down-East “ hired-man’s ” freedom. 
“You know she wouldn’t take any money, which, 
with an Injun, is ’nuff to make you suspect some¬ 
thin’s up.” 

Tom was sleeping late, and had not come down 
to breakfast. At The Pines, one of the comforts 
was that you could sleep just as long as you 
wanted to in the morning. 

“They’re growing young things,” aunt Puss 
would say, “ and they have to get up early all win- 


21 


22 


SILVER RAGS. 


ter to get ready for school. It’s a pity if they 
can’t lie abed here, so long’s they’re resting, till 
afternoon, if they like.” 

The real fact was that ordinarily the days were 
so filled with good times that noboby wished to 
lose an hour in the morning, and so all hands were 
up bright and early. 

“ How much do you think the watch was worth, 
Pet ? ” asked her aunt. “ Bessie, let me give you 
another mug of milk.” 

Pet sat next to aunt Puss, looking very pale and 
quiet this morning. It was observed that she 
started nervously every time she was addressed; 
but this remnant of yesterday’s fright wore off 
during the day. 

“ I don’t know exactly,” she answered, “ but I 
think mamma paid six hundred francs for it in 
Geneva last year.” 

“ That’s about one hundred and twenty dollars,” 
said Mr. Percival. ‘‘It would be worth at least a 
hundred and fifty in America, when it was new.” 

“ Can’t it have dropped out of her pocket ? ” 
suggested Kittie. 

“ Ruel searched every foot of ground where you 
went.” 


WHERE IS THE WATCH ? 


23 


“ Why can’t the thieves be pursued ? ” exclaimed 
Randolph, starting to his feet. “I’ll join a party, 
for one, to overtake them and recover the prop¬ 
erty ! ” 

“ Sit down and finish your coffee, my boy,” said 
his uncle, smiling. “ The sheriff and two assist¬ 
ants started on their track half an hour ago. But 
I fear it won’t be of much use, as they are too 
cunning to be easily caught. Of course they will 
deny all knowledge of the watch, probably having 
hidden it when they heard the officers coming.” 

“ Will they be arrested ? ” 

“Yes.” 

The girls began to look frightened. 

“ And where will they be brought, sir ? ” 

“Here. I am a Trial Justice in this county,” 
said Mr. Percival, rising. 

Just then Tom entered the room, looking as if 
he had not slept very soundly, after all. 

“Uncle,” he said in a low voice, glancing at the 
rest as they left their places at the table with a 
clatter of chairs on the kitchen floor, “ uncle, 
can I see you alone for a moment ? ” 

Mr. Percival patted him on the shoulder. “ Bet¬ 
ter eat your breakfast, my boy, the first thing you 


24 


SILVER RAGS. 


do. I have some matters to look after in the barn 
and you can find me there, if you want to. You 
must forget about the accident yesterday,” he 
added kindly, seeing the boy’s pale face. “ Pet’s 
all right now, and we sha’n’t let her fall in again, 
you may be sure.” 

“I know, sir, but — ” 

Here aunt Puss bustled up with a plate of 
hot flapjacks, and uncle Will stepped aside with a 
laugh. 

“ Eat ’em while they’re hot, Tom,” said Ruel 
gravely, pausing a minute at the door, “ or Mis’ 
Percival will have her feelin’s awfully hurt.” 

So Tom was fain to put off his interview with 
his uncle, till some better season. Ah, Tom, if 
you had but spoken a moment earlier, or insisted 
one whit more strongly! But Mr. Percival went 
off where his duties called him, and Tom found no 
chance to see him alone that day, nor the next. 
Whatever the subject was, it did not seem to dis¬ 
turb him so much after a good breakfast; and he 
promised himself he would attend to it a little 
later. 

The forenoon was spent quietly in the barn, in 
the capacious bays of which the mounds of fra- 


WHERE IS THE WATCH ? 


25 


grant hay had just been stored, still warm with the 
midsummer sunshine, and furnishing an occasional 
sleepy grasshopper, by no means startled out of 
his dignity by his sudden change of residence. 
The west wind blew softly in at the open doors, 
through which one could look, as one lay on the 
mow, into the sunny world outside, and catch a 
few bars of an oriole’s call, or of robin’s cheery 
note. The cattle were all out to pasture. Over 
the floor walked the hens, in serene meditation, 
placidly clucking, or uttering a remonstrative and 
warning “ Wha-a-a-t! ” as a swallow careened too 
near them in the bars of dusty sunlight. The 
only other noise was the occasional bird-twitter 
from one of the dozen or more nests upon the 
rafters overhead, and the tapping of bills on the 
floor as the sober fowls now and then gleaned a 
stray insect or bit of seed-food. 

“ I don’t see,” said Tom lazily, gazing up to¬ 
ward the ridge-pole, where a swallow was busily 
engaged in feeding her clamorous family, “ I don’t 
see what people ever want to live in the city for! ” 

“ If people- could spend their time on hay-mows, 
half asleep, or — Ow! — tickling their sisters’ ears 
with straws ! — ” 


26 


SILVER RAGS. 


“Well, that’s all girls do, anyway. A feller 
might just’s well stretch out here as curl up on a 
sofa and crochet all day!” Tom delivered this 
remark with emphasis, expressive of his manly 
disgust at all fancy-work in general, and “crochet ” 
under which head he classed every home industry 
connected with worsted — in particular. 

“I should like to see a ‘feller’ do Kensington,” 
remarked Bess calmly. “ Seems to me I remem¬ 
ber one who wanted to knit on a spool, one time 
when he was sick, and — ” 

“ O let up, Bess ; that don’t count ? ” 

“— And after he had knit two inches and 
dropped thirteen stitches, gav^ it up because ‘ it 
made his head tired! ’ ” concluded Bess merci¬ 
lessly. V 

When the laugh had subsided), and Bess had 
emerged from the armful of dried dJover and red- 
top under which Tom had extinguished her, Kittie 
spoke up, more soberly. 

“I guess I know what Tom means, and he isn’t 
so far out of the way either. We do waste lots of 
time now, really, don’t we, girls ?” 

“ So do boys,” said Bess, stoutly. 

“ I know ; but boys have something hard and 


WHERE IS THE WATCH ? 


27 


useful to do, ’most every day,” persisted Kittie, 
whom the five Justices of the Supreme Bench 
couldn’t have diverted from her point. “ Boys go 
to school until they’re ready to work or enter col¬ 
lege. Then they never stop working, till they 
die.” 

“Yes,” said Tom solemnly, “that’s what uses 
me up so; it’s just hard work.” 

“You look like it! ” exclaimed Randolph, bury¬ 
ing Tom in his turn. “ I’ll tell you what it is, 
girls,” he added, as he gave Tom a final shot, 
“there’s a good deal in what Kittie says. But 
work is good for us, anyway ; and besides, when 
we do get in a little play, betweenwhiles, we have 
a glorious time, I can tell you ! ” 

“ But I know lots of boys, and young men too,” 
put in Pet eagerly, “who just go to parties and 
don’t work hard at all.” 

“ O, I don’t count those things boys” said Kit¬ 
tie. “They’re just dolls ; and if there’s anything 
I always despised, it’s boy-dolls.” 

“What do you think girls could do, Kittie?” 
asked Bess, “ when they don’t have lessons to get, 
I mean.” 

“ I think they could make useful things to give 


2 8 


SILVER RAGS. 


poor people,” answered Kittie, her gray eyes 
sparkling with earnestness. “ If we put the same 
amount of time into making up nice, plain clothes 
for poor people — special poor people, I mean, 
that we could find out about, ourselves -— that we 
do into ‘crochet,’ as Tom says — what a lot 
of things we could make and give away in one 
winter ! ” 

“ I never could bear to sew,” sighed Pet, survey¬ 
ing her pretty, plump fingers. “ It seems just old 
ladies’ work, pulling over rag-bags and ‘piecing’ 
together. It’s dreadful, trying to save.” 

“ It depends on what you do with the rags,” 
said Randolph. “ My grandmother had one of 
those bags that she was always using out of, and 
yet ’twas always full of rags, just crammed, so you 
couldn’t pull the puckers of the bag together at 
the top.” 

“What ever did she make with them ?” 

“ Mats and carpets, mostly. That is, she didn’t 
make ’em herself, but used to hire poor people to 
make ’em, after she’d showed them how. She’d 
always arrange it so’s to help two at once. ‘It’s 
better,’ she used to say, ‘to feed two birds with 
one crumb, than kill them with a stone.’ ” 


WHERE IS THE WATCH ? 


2 9 


“Why, how did she do it?” queried practical 
Bess, much interested. 

“ She’d find out through the city missionaries 
generally, some woman that was awfully poor, and 
she’d send for her and say, * I know a family down 
in such a street that are very poor; they earn just 
enough to live on — not enough to walk on, for 
they haven’t any carpets on their bare floors, this 
cold weather.’ ” 

“Well?” 

“ Well, then she’d show the poor woman, the 
first one, how to ‘ pull ’ a rag mat, and would hire 
her to make one, giving her enough rags from that 
bag. When ’twas done, she’d praise it up and 
say how pretty ’twas, ’specially this row, or that 
flower, and so on; and then pay her for the 
work.” 

“And did your grandmother give the first poor 
woman’s carpet to the second poor woman ? ” 
asked Pet, knitting her brows over the algebraic 
difficulty of the problem. 

“ Not herself. She sent it by the first poor 
woman so’s to let her have the pleasure of giv¬ 
ing.” 

“How lovely ! ” exclaimed Pet. “ I’m going to 


30 


SILVER RAGS. 


have a rag-bag of my very own this winter—with 
nothing but plush in it! ” 

“No,” said Bess, “that won’t do; plush catches 
dust.” 

“Who’s up in my hay-mow!” The voice was 
deep and strong, but entirely pleasant, and so 
nearly underneath them that the girls jumped. 

“ O uncle Will, they all cried at once,” do come 
up here— it’s just perfect — and tell us a story ! ” 

“If it’s ‘just perfect’ already, I don’t think I’d 
better come ! ” Nevertheless the good-natured old 
man mounted the steep ladder, and was at once 
allotted the breeziest and softest seat. 

“Well, well,” he said, baring his head to the 
gentle west wind, “this is comfortable. How 
many times I’ve lain on the hay here, when I was 
a boy, and dreamed what I would do —some¬ 
time ! ” 

“You never dreamed yourself such a dear uncle 
as you are,” said Bess softly, stroking his hair. 

“ Now you are trying to spoil me ! What story 
shall I tell, I wonder ? It must be short, because I 
may be called away at any moment. Let me see 
— how would one of my younger day scrapes 
do ? ” 






























WHERE IS THE WATCH ? 


31 


“ Splendid ! splendid ! ” 

“ Well, this wasn’t much of an adventure for 
youngsters like you who travel about over the 
country, a hundred miles a day. But to us, Fred 
and me, it seemed a good deal at the time. Fred 
always loved mountain climbing. He went to 
Europe while still a young man, and only last week 
he sent me a paper containing an account of his 
ascent of one of the loftiest among the Bernese 
Alps.” 

“ Is he the stout gentleman that we saw here 
last summer, uncle, and who told us so much about 
Switzerland ? ” 

“ The same one, Kittie. ‘Frederic Cruden, 
Esq, F. R. S.,’ he is now. But in those days he 
was just a slim, fun-loving boy, and the only 
‘Fellow’ he was, was a very good fellow indeed. 
Well, while we were both in our teens, our two 
families made up a party and visited the White 
Mountains.” 

“There was no railroad through the Notch 
then ? ” 

“ I should say not! If one wished to see the 
grandest localities of the White Mountains, he 
must either foot it or ride over the rough roads in 


32 


SILVER RAGS. 


the big, jolting stage-coach which often carried 
more outside than in, and occasionally tipped its 
passengers out upon the moss-banks beside the 
road. Bears, too, were more abundant than now, 
and that's saying considerable; for in many of 
the little New Hampshire towns of Coos County, 
farmers are to-day prevented from keeping sheep 
by the inroads of Bruin, who loves a dainty shoul¬ 
der of mutton for supper only too well. I saw by 
the papers recently that the selectmen of one 
township during last year paid bounties on eleven 
bears and two wolves ! ” 

Here Tom uttered a series of ferocious growls, 
but was covered with hay and sat upon by his 
cousin until he promised to behave himself. 

“We were stopping at the fine, new Profile 
House,” continued Mr. Percival, “ Fred and I, 
with our fathers and mothers, as I said. Being of 
nearly the same age, we were always planning some 
sort of excursion together. One day we had 
begged to be allowed to ascend Mount Lafayette, 
a peak about twenty miles southwest of Mount 
Washington, and only second to the latter in point 
of interest. A guide-book which we had pro¬ 
cured told of a fine house on the summit, and we 


WHERE IS THE WATCH ? 


33 


would just stop there long enough to cool off after 
our walk, before coming down by the ‘well-worn 
bridle-path.’ We were sturdy little fellows, and 
though we had never yet accomplished such a feat 
as the ascent of a five thousand-foot mountain, felt 
quite equal to the task.” 

“ How old did you say you were, uncle ?” asked 
Randolph. 

“ About fourteen, but large of our age. We 
started off at about two o’clock in the afternoon, 
with many injunctions to be back by tea-time, and 
on no account to linger by the way. 

“It was in the highest of spirits that we strode 
away on the level road, up the valley, toward the 
peak that lay so softly brown against the blue sky 
just beyond. Before long we struck into the 
bridle path, which was exceedingly muddy near the 
base, and became constantly more steep and slip¬ 
pery as we ascended. Boy-like, we were quite 
heedless of the lapse of time, and often stopped to 
gather birch-bark, climb after squirrels’ nests, or 
take a bite of the sandwiches we had stuffed into 
our pockets at the last moment. The forest, I re¬ 
member, was singularly silent, no breeze among 
the stiff tops of the hemlocks, no merry singing of 


34 


SILVER RAGS. 


birds; only now and then the muffled gurgle of a 
brook among the mossy stones beside the path, or 
the single, plaintive whistle of a thrush, far away 
on the mountain-side. 

“When we had stopped for breath, about half-way 
up, a descending horseback-party passed us. We 
asked them about the house on the summit, but 
they only laughed, and said it had good walls and 
a high roof. This disturbed us a little, but we soon 
forgot our apprehensions, and pressed forward. 
Half a mile beyond this point, we came to that 
strange, nameless pool of water, seeming half cloud, 
half dream, hanging like a dew-drop on the slope 
of the mountain. As we stamped our feet on the 
moss which composed its banks, the whole surface 
of the ground, for rods away, trembled as if with an 
earthquake, and made us feel as if we were walking 
in a nightmare. It occurred to us that it would 
add to the glory of our exploit if we could catch 
some dream-fish out of this strange, unreal pond 
among the clouds ; so we spent an hour or more in 
useless angling in its clear depths. 

“ Then Fred looked up at the sky, and uttered an 
exclamation. I followed his glance — and dropped 
my pole. The sun was almost resting on the edge 


WHERE IS THE WATCH ? 


35 


of the mountains in the west, arid it was plain that 
it would be dark in less than an hour.” 

“ And all those bears ! ” murmured Pet, gazing 
at the narrator with round eyes. “ O, I should 
think you would have been scared ! ” 

Mr. Percival smiled. “ If I had been as old as I 
am now, I should have said ‘Fred, we’re caught 
this time by our own thoughtlessness. We can go 
down in half or quarter of the time it took us to 
climb up ; and once on the main road in the valley, 
we shall be all right.’ But a boy of fourteen doesn’t 
reason in that way. We were tired and hungry. 
We thought of the welcome we should receive 
from the people on the summit, and of the good 
things they would doubtless have for supper. 

“‘Besides,’ said Fred, ‘we must be nearly up 
now. The trees don’t last much longer — they 
aren’t higher than our heads here. It’ll be all 
rocks pretty soon, and then we shall be right at 
the top, just like Mt. Washington.’ 

“ So we started up again, with, we afterward con¬ 
fessed to each other, uncomfortable misgivings in 
our breasts. It was really my fault, though, for I 
was the older of the two, and ought to have known 
better. 


36 


SILVER RAGS. 


“ Well, in ten minutes the sun was out of sight 
behind the hills, and I tell you, boys, the shadows 
felt cold. It was like walking into a running brook 
in the middle of a hot day, and we shivered and 
buttoned our jackets tight around our throats as we 
clambered along over the rocks, panting in the thin 
air, and stopping for breath every few rods. 

“It was tough work, especially as the wind began 
to rise and dodge at us from behind great bowlders, 
cutting like knives with its chilling breath. Darker 
and darker it grew, so that we could hardly distin¬ 
guish the path, that was now a mere series of 
scratches over the rocks. In vain we strained our 
eyes for a friendly twinkle of light from the win¬ 
dows ahead. All was still, silent, dark. I confess, 
Pet, I thought of the bears, and halted half a dozen 
times, with beating heart, at sight of some dark 
rock that crouched behind the path. We were 
just thinking, Fred and I, of curling up for shelter 
under some overhanging ledge, and so spending 
the night, when a queer object caught our eyes. 
It was like a tree, stripped of every branch, and 
standing grimly alone there in the rocky desert, 
like a solitary Arab. A few steps more showed us 
what it was, and, at the same time, the tremendous 


WHERE IS THE WATCH ? 


37 


mistake we had made, from the very outset of our 
plan, flashed upon us. It was clear that we were 
at last standing upon the very tip-top of Mount 
Lafayette, lifted in the air nearly a mile straight 
up, above the level of our home by the seashore. 
But alas, where was the inn, with its longed-for 
fires, its well-spread table, its comfortable beds and 
friendly hosts ? The little weather-beaten flag¬ 
pole (for such was our naked tree), stood stiffly 
erect beside a blackened and crumbling stonewall, 
which enclosed a small space partially floored with 
charred boards, partially choked with rubbish that 
had fallen in long ago. 

“ 1 Seems to me I remember something about its 
being burned up once,’ said Fred, faintly. ‘I 
s’posed of course they built it again ! ’ 

“Yes, there were the openings, where windows 
and door had been set, and which now looked out 
into the dreary night like eyeless sockets. 

“There was no time to be lost. The air was 
growing colder every moment, and the bitter wind 
was driving up a huge bank of clouds from the 
east. Although it was early in September, we 
afterward learned that ice formed in many places 
through the mountains that night. Such cases are 


38 


SILVER RAGS. 


by no means rare, and, indeed, in some of the 
ravines and gorges of the White Mountain group; 
snow and ice may be found the whole year round. 

“ Entering the roofless walls, and placing our 
sandwiches in a small niche which probably had 
once served for a cupboard, we set vigorously to 
work, ripping up the pieces of boards that still 
remained, and piling them in one corner where the 
wall was highest. In five minutes we had a roar¬ 
ing fire, by the light and warmth of which we con¬ 
structed a rude shelter in the form of a ‘ lean-to/ 
against the rocks, and crept under it to sup off our 
scanty provisions, and reflect.” 

“ Were you frightened, sir ? ” asked Tom slyly. 

“Well, I suppose there was no great danger, 
Tom, but to boys who had spent their lives in 
comfortable homes, surrounded by care, and gentle, 
watchful attentions from those they loved most, it 
was a thrilling experience. There, alone on the 
mountain-top, high in air, far above any trace of 
vegetation save a few frightened Alpine flowers 
that huddle together under the rocks for a few 
weeks in summer, the darkness about them like a 
shroud, the wind rising and moaning over the 
bare ledges, and a storm creeping up through the 


WHERE IS THE WATCH ? 


39 


valleys to assault their fortress at any moment. 
At last it came. Like a tornado, an icy blast 
rushed upon us with a howl and a roar, blowing 
our fire out in a moment while the red flames 
leaped back to the glowing brands only to be 
hurled off into the darkness again and again. 

“ And the rain ! In less time than it takes to tell 
it, we were drenched to the skin, and pinched and 
pulled by the fingers of the storm that were thrust 
in through a hundred little crannies in our almost 
useless shelter. The thunder crashed, the rain 
rattled on the loose boards, the fire hissed feebly 
and turned black in the face, and the night closed 
in about us colder and drearier than ever. All we 
could do was to lie still, and shiver, and hope for 
morning. 

“A little after midnight the tempest abated, and, 
tired, healthy boys as we were, we dropped into a 
troubled sleep. At the first glimmer of daylight, 
however, we stretched ourselves with groans and 
moans, and crawled stiffly out into the open air. It 
was bitter, bitter cold; so that I remember it was 
a long while before I could manage my fingers 
well enough to light a match. 

“ What did we do for kindling ? Why, I forgot to 


40 


SILVER RAGS. 


say that when it first began to rain, I took out all 
the birch bark I had gathered on my way up, and 
tucked it under my shoulder ; so that for the most 
part the inner strips were pretty dry, and sput¬ 
tered cheerily when I touched them off. I believe 
nothing ever did me so much good as that fire. 
Under its influence, we were so much cheered that 
we actually walked out to see the sunrise, which 
was glorious. 

“ It didn’t take us long to descend that moun¬ 
tain, I can tell you ; and we reached the Profile 
House in season to tell the whole story to the 
family (who, in truth, had slept little more than we) 
over the breakfast table.” 

Just as the story was completed, a rattle of 
wheels was heard in the driveway leading to the 
house. Presently a wagon drove up, containing— 
besides a short, thick-set man whom Randolph 
recognized as the sheriff, and the two young fel¬ 
lows who served as deputies — an Indian half 
covered in a blanket, a squaw, and two dignified 
brown pappooses. It was easy to recognize them 
as the Loon Pond campers. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE TRIAL. 

I T was decided to give the Indians their dinner 
before examining them. Mr. Percival knew 
they would be more likely to tell the truth if well- 
treated ; and all he wanted was to obtain the watch, 
not to punish the thieves. Accordingly they were 
conducted to the kitchen, and there, under charge 
of the sheriffs, they were provided with a bounti¬ 
ful meal by aunt Puss. 

The captors meanwhile explained that they had 
found their prisoners encamped about ten miles 
down the road. They had been very angry at 
first, but the sheriff, who was really a good-natured 
farmer living about three miles from Mr. Percival’s 
place, had managed to pacify Sebattis, the father 
of the family, and he kept Moll in good order. 
They all, added Mr. Blake, the sheriff, had denied 
any knowledge of the watch, from first to last. 
After dinner, to which the Indians did ample 


41 


42 


SILVER RAGS. 


justice, the whole party were conducted to the 
sitting-room. Mr. Percival took his seat beside a 
table, at one end of the room, and asked Sebattis 
to hold up his right hand. He then administered 
the oath to the prisoner with a dignity and solem¬ 
nity which impressed the young people, and which 
were specially admired by Randolph, who had sev¬ 
eral times seen the ceremony flippantly performed 
in the city courts. 

The magistrate now proceeded with the exami¬ 
nation. 

“What is your name, sir?” he asked gravely 
but pleasantly. 

The Indian, gratified by the title given him, 
answered with promptness: “Sebattis Megone.” 

“That is your wife with you ?” 

“ Yis. She Moll Megone.” 

“ Where have you been camping for the last 
month ? ” 

Sebattis hesitated a moment, then glanced at 
his wife and replied, “ Tent down by Loon Pond. 
No good. Bad place. Me leave him.” 

“What was the matter with the place?” 

“ No fish. Water bad drink.” 

“ Then why didn’t you go away before ? ” 


THE TRIAL. 


43 


Again the Indian paused, scowled slightly, and 
threw his blanket across his shoulder with a gest¬ 
ure not without dignity. 

“Me go when like; stay when like.” 

Here Moll gave a sharp look at her husband, 
which Randolph was just in time to catch. Seeing 
that her glance was noticed, she made the best of 
it and spoke up boldly. 

“We go sell baskit,” she said. “Plenty folk in 
big town to buy ’em —” 

“Wait a moment,” interrupted Mr. Percival. 
“ You shall tell your story in a moment. Eunice, 
you give this woman a comfortable place in the 
kitchen with her babies, will you ? ” 

Both Indians seemed inclined to resent this 
move, but the magistrate was evidently not a man 
to be trifled with, and Moll sullenly withdrew, 
bearing a pappoose on each arm. 

“Now,” continued Mr. Percival once more, 
“ did you, Sebattis, see any of these young peo¬ 
ple yesterday ? ” 

“No. Me hunt on furder side Loon Pond.” 

“Did your wife tell you about it when you came 
back to the tent at night ?” 

“ When me come wigwam, Moll say girl-with- 


44 


SILVER RAGS. 


gold-hair fall in pond, come near drown. Ver’ 
hard make alive ag’in. That all.** 

“ Didn’t she show you something she had 
found ? ” 

“Yis.” And the Indian gravely held up his 
hand, making a circle with his thumb and fore¬ 
finger. 

“ What was it ? ” 

The children leaned forward expectantly, Pet’s 
eyes sparkling. 

The Indian never showed by the movement of 
a muscle nor a glance of the eye the irony with 
which he had purposely led his questioners to this 
point. 

“ Half dollar,” he replied, in his slow, guttural 
tones. “ Moll find it where white hunter, that 
man,” indicating Ruel, who was standing near, 
“drop it in bushes when he go pray.” 

All turned and looked at Ruel, who flushed to 
his hair, but stood his ground. 

“ How do you know he prayed ? ” asked Mr. 
Percival gently. 

“ Wife find where he two knees go down on moss. 
Half dollar drop out. Wife say no keep. I say 
yis, keep him for work an’ wet blankit.” 


THE TRIAL. 


45 


Mr. Percival smiled in spite of himself at the 
man’s confession ; nevertheless he looked troubled. 

“ Do you mean to tell me, Sebattis,” he said 
sternly, after a moment, “ that you have never seen 
this girl’s watch ? If half a dollar fell out of a 
pocket, so could a watch. Come, my man, own up 
and give it back, and I’ll let you go this time.” 

The Indian’s brow darkened, and he drew him¬ 
self up to his full height. 

“ Sebattis no see watch. Know nothing ’bout 
him.” 

He delivered himself of this remark with more 
emphasis than he had yet used ; then sat down, 
pulling his blanket around him ; and not another 
word would he speak, save a few guttural sentences 
in his own language to his wife, who was now called 
in once more. The scowl remained on his fore¬ 
head, and Kittie whispered to Bess that she saw 
him eying the windows and their fastenings. 

Moll was now sharply questioned, but with no 
better result. She had seen the gold watch-chain, 
she admitted, when the girls first reached the tent. 
It was dangling from her pocket — pointing to 
Kittie! 

“O,” cried Kittie, “-but that’s impossible, for I 


4 6 


SILVER RAGS. 


haven’t any watch nor chain myself, and I never 
even touched Pet’s but once, and that was the day 
we all got here and she was showing it to aunt.” 

Mr. Percival looked grave ; the sheriff shut one 
eye knowingly; the girls edged off, half-scared, 
after Kittie had spoken. Moll alone appeared to 
retain her perfect self-possession. 

“ It was in that one’s pocket,” she persisted, 
using much better English than her husband. “ I 
was ’fraid pappooses grab it, and break. Maybe 
she take it,” she added, with a malicious look at 
poor Kittie. 

“ Silence ! ” said uncle Will sternly. “ Answer 
my questions, and nothing more. When did you 
say you saw this chain ? ” 

“ When gal first come.” 

“ Not after they returned from the pond ? ” 

“No. Forget all about it. Too much drown,” 
said the squaw grimly. “Didn’t see him no more.” 
And no other answer nor admission could be ob¬ 
tained. 

Ruel, Randolph and the girls were now asked a 
few questions each, to bring out their story in the 
hearing of the Indians. The latter denied nothing, 
and admitted nothing. 


THE TRIAL. 


47 


Mr. Percival looked perplexed. To him the 
guilt of the Indians seemed plain, especially after 
the palpable falsehood of the squaw. Nothing 
could have been easier, in the excitement of the 
restoration of the half-drowned girl, than to draw 
the watch from her cast-off clothes, and conceal it. 
The ground over which the party had passed had 
been scrutinized inch by inch, as well as the 
smooth, hard bottom of the lake where the accident 
had occurred ; and by eyes that were as sharp as 
those of the Indians themselves. When Ruel said 
quietly after his morning search, that the watch 
was not in the woods nor the lake, that possibility 
was dropped, as settled beyond doubt. There had 
not been much ground to examine, for Pet dis¬ 
tinctly remembered, and in this she was corrobo¬ 
rated by Randolph, that she had taken out her 
watch and named the time of day, just before they 
first reached the wigwam. 

Still, the magistrate could not commit the pris¬ 
oners without some shadow of real proof; and he 
was obliged to admit to himself that there was 
none whatever. He called Mr. Blake aside, and 
held a consultation with him in low tones. The 
attention of the others was for the moment taken 


48 


SILVER RAGS. 


up with the pappooses, who were indulging them¬ 
selves in various grunts and gasps and queer 
noises, accompanied by energetic struggles as if 
they were attacked by some internal foe, such as 
occasionally invades babyland. Moll sat holding 
them, sullen and silent. 

“It must be a pin — ” began aunt Puss, with a 
sympathetic movement toward the baby whose 
uncouth wails were the wildest; but she did not 
finish her sentence. A crashing of glass close at 
hand startled everybody in the room; and one 
glance at the shattered window-sash told the whole 
story. Sebattis, watching his opportunity, and 
seeing both doors of the room blocked by his 
persecutors, had sprung through the lower half 
of the window, carrying glass and all before him, 
and in an instant was out of sight in the forest. 

The babies, strange to say, had become perfectly 
quiet and no one having seen the quick gleam of 
triumph in the squaw’s eyes, she was not suspected 
of having been the cause of their previous out¬ 
cries, by various sly pinches under the blanket. 

The officers of the law at once sprang toward 
the door, but Mr. Percival checked them. “ It’s 
of no use,” he said. “The only real misdemeanor 


THE TRIAL. 


49 


that can be proved against the fellow is assault 
and battery on my window,” he added, gazing rue¬ 
fully at the ragged edges of the glass. “ It rather 
relieves us, Blake, of the necessity of a decision 
in the watch matter, for you might scour the woods 
for a month without finding an Indian who wanted 
to keep out of the way.” 

“I only hope,” said the sheriff, “that he won’t 
lay it up against us, round here. These chaps are 
ugly enough to burn a barn, if no worse, for sheer 
revenge.” 

Here Ruel whispered to Mr. Percival, who pro¬ 
ceeded to act at once upon what was evidently the 
guide’s suggestion. 

“ Moll,” he said to the squaw, who had watched 
the faces of the men with hardly concealed eager¬ 
ness, “ I’m sorry your husband ran away, for 
I should have let him go, anyway. Now these men 
will carry you back to your tent. If you ever find 
that watch,” he added meaningly, looking her full 
in the eye, “ bring it to me and you shall have 
twenty dollars reward.” 

Without a word the woman rose, and passing 
out, seated herself once more in the wagon, which 
drove off rapidly down the road in the direction 


50 


SILVER RAGS. 


of her wigwam. The trial was over, and the pris¬ 
oners discharged; but the vexed question still 
remained, Where was the watch ? 

In the afternoon, while Ruel and Tim repaired 
the broken window — for panes of glass, putty 
and carpenter’s tools were always ready at hand 
in the workshop — the boys walked over to the 
pond and examined the path and its vicinity care¬ 
fully for themselves, and even took turns diving 
to the bottom of the pond, in a vain search for the 
missing article. Wherever it might be, it clearly 
had been carried off by some human agency. Pet’s 
father and mother were at this time stopping in a 
large hotel near Boston, and had written for her 
to come up for a day or two, as there were friends 
visiting them from the West whom they were par¬ 
ticularly anxious for her to meet and help enter¬ 
tain. She could return to Mr. Percival’s, her 
mother wrote, by the middle of the following week. 

With a sad heart, both at leaving her friends, 
and because she felt she was abandoning all hope 
of her watch, she started off early on the morning 
after the trial, with Ruel as driver, for the Pineville 
Station where she was to take the cars on a 
Branch of the Maine Central Railroad, for Boston. 


THE TRIAL. 


51 


All the young folks except Tom, who unexpect¬ 
edly declined to go, on the plea of a headache, 
accompanied Pet to the station, telling her about 
their “ Camp Christmas ” of the preceding winter, 
and waving hats and handkerchiefs until the train 
rounded a curve and crept out of sight. 

Meanwhile Tom languidly rose from his bed, 
as soon as he heard the laughing wagon-load 
drive away; went down to breakfast with a sulky 
face and red eyes, as if he had been up late 
the night before, or had been crying — and hardly 
waiting to reply to his uncle’s cheery good-morn¬ 
ing, walked off with his hands in his pockets, in 
the direction of Loon Pond. After an absence 
of a couple of hours, he returned, looking tired 
out, and passed the rest of the forenoon in the 
barn, lying on the hay-mow with a book. But if 
you had peeped over his shoulder, you would have 
seen that the pages were upside-down, and that 
now and then a tear rolled slowly over the boy’s 
cheeks, while his lips twitched nervously. Tom 
was evidently, on this bright June day, one of the 
unhappiest of boys. What could have happened ? 


CHAPTER IV. 


FIRE ! 

I WONDER if they are so different! ” 

Pet Sibley found the summer hotel very 
pleasant. She was fond of gayety and pretty 
dresses and music; and of these she found a 
plenty at the “ Everglades.” The hotel was within 
a half-hour’s ride of Boston, but was situated in 
the very heart of a beautiful, shadowy grove of 
pines, whose breath made the air sweet all through 
the long hours of the languid summer day. If the 
trees were more civilized and conventional in their 
appearance than the wide-branching, free-tossing 
pines in Uncle Percival’s upland pastures and 
hundred-acre wood-lot, Pet was not yet enough 
waked-up to know the difference; in fact, found it 
rather nice to be able to stroll about the well- 
kept grounds of the “Everglades,” without fear 
of tearing her skirts in the underbrush, or losing 
her way if she left the path. There was no under- 
5 2 


FIRE ! 


53 


brush here, and it was pretty much all path. 

Within a few minutes’ walk, and bordering the 
grove on the further side, a river wound pleasantly 
and peacefully through a bright strip of meadow- 
land. On this river the Sibleys kept a boat, with 
carpet and cushioned seats—not much like the 
rough little affair which had tipped Pet over into 
Loon Pond. 

Life at the Everglades flowed softly and calmly, 
like the river; and on the surface floated, like its 
radiant lilies, the fair ladies, young and old, who 
fanned and smiled and danced away the summer, 
without a thought of the suffering thousands in the 
hot city, fifteen miles away. 

Without a thought ? Yes, there were some who 
thought, and who brought poor and ailing children 
out to a Country Home near by ; but these were 
few. 

Pet Sibley, I am glad to say, was one of those 
who remembered the narrow streets of the North 
End, and the swarms of ragged men, women and 
children who panted, dog-like, on curbstone and 
doorstep, along the foul streets as the sun went 
down each night. 

The people from the West, Pet learned, were 


54 


SILVER RAGS. 


relatives, and though their views of life hardly 
agreed with her own — if, indeed, she had any 
views — she found the new-comers very pleasant. 
On the third day after her return, her cousin Mark, 
whose home was in Chicago, and with whom al¬ 
ready, in the free intimacy of hotel life, she felt 
well acquainted, had taken her out on the river. 

A half-hour had slipped by, during which her 
cousin had instructed her how to sit safely in a 
boat, and even how to row a little. Just as they 
turned abend in the stream and floated into a cove 
where birches and wild grape-vines afforded a grate¬ 
ful bit of shade, the girl stopped rowing, and look¬ 
ing up at Mark, who sat indolently in the stern of 
the boat, made the remark with which this chapter 
began : 

“ I wonder if they are so — different! " 

Pet’s pretty young forehead had a puzzled little 
wrinkle as she leaned forward, with the oar-blades 
rippling through the water, and the muslin sleeves 
falling back from her brown wrists. 

“Are they so different, cousin Mark ? ” 

Her companion gave an impatient twitch to his 
straw hat. 

“Why, of course ! They are not like you, Pet. 





THE PIAZZA AT u THE EVERGLADES 






















































































FIRE ! 


55 


They are ignorant and poor and — and not clean, 
you know. They were born to it and they like it.” 

“ But it doesn’t seem right. I heard a lady on 
the piazza this morning say something about ‘ those 
creatures ’ in such a way that I thought she was 
speaking of rats or snakes. It turned out she 
meant the convicts who attacked their keepers at 
the prison last July.” 

Pet spoke warmly, as she was apt to do when 
she once took up a subject. If she was yet a gay 
young creature, very fond of “good times,” and 
ready for any sort of fun, she yet was one of those 
girls with whom shallow young men at summer 
hotels are rather shy of entering into conversation. 
She was only fifteen, and one by one the terribly 
real problems of the day were marshalling them¬ 
selves before her. She would not pass them by 
with a gay laugh, after the prevailing mode of her 
merry companions. She felt somehow that it be¬ 
longed to her to help the world and make it better, 
as well as to the missionaries and other good peo¬ 
ple upon whose shoulders we so willingly pack re¬ 
sponsibilities. 

For this childish enthusiasm she was smiled 
on indulgently by her friends. Kitty and Bess 


56 


SILVER RAGS. 


knew the best there was in her, and loved her 
for it. 

Pet gave two or three quick strokes, and paused. 

“ Isn’ there any way to help these poor people, 
Mark ? It must be the way these people live and 
are brought up that makes them so rough and bad. 
Isn’t there any way to help them ? ” 

“ None that amounts to much. Besides, that 
isn’t our business. There are men enough who do 
nothing else — are paid for it—missionaries and 
the like. And you can’t make everybody rich, you 
know. The Bible itself says, 4 Ye have the poor 
always with you.’ ” 

“ Perhaps that doesn’t mean that we ought to 
have them,” replied Pet, slowly. 

“Well, they’re here, and we may as well make 
the best of it.” 

“ But what is the best ? That’s just it.” 

“ What is the use of your thinking about it ? 
You can’t do anything, and you don’t even know 
the kind of people we’re talking of; the North- 
Enders, for instance. You have never seen and 
touched them ; and if you should meet them face to 
face, I don’t believe you would care for any further 
acquaintance. They’re simply disgusting.” 


fire! 


57 


Pet said no more on the subject, and just as the 
sun dropped into the arms of the waiting pines on 
the hill they reached the little wharf on the river- 
bank, moored the boat, and walked up to the hotel. 
She went straight to her mother’s room, and, after 
her fashion, as straight to the point. 

“ Mother, I want to go into the city right away, 
and sp‘end the night with aunt Augusta.” 

“ But, my child, it’s tea-time already, and there’s 
a hop this evening. You had better wait till morn¬ 
ing.” 

“ Mother, I so much want to go now. The train 
leaves in fifteen minutes. I don’t care for the hop, 
anyway ; it’s too warm to dance. Please, mother ? ” 

Of course impulsive little Pet had her way, and 
was soon whirling along toward the city, with a 
strong resolve in her mind. 

“ I'll walk up to auntie’s from the depot, and to¬ 
morrow I’ll go down to North Street with uncle.” 

The train stopped at all the small stations, and 
was delayed by various causes, so that it was quite 
dark when she started on her walk. She was glad, 
after all, to find the streets well-lighted, and filled 
with respectable-looking people. 

On reaching Washington Street, however, every- 


58 


SILVER RAGS. 


thing appeared weird and unnatural. The side¬ 
walks along which one could hardly pass in the 
daytime, for the crowd, were nearly deserted. All 
the spots that were bright by sunlight, were now 
dark, and all the ordinarily dark places light. It 
was exactly like the negative of a photograph, and 
gave Pet a sense of looking on the wrong side of 
everything. Once she saw something move behind 
the broad plate-glass windows of a railroad agency, 
on a corner that in the daytime was a business cen¬ 
tre. She approached, and was startled to find the 
object a huge rat, trotting silently about, over the 
polished engravings and placards, behind the glass, 
a very spirit of solitude and evil. It was all like a 
nightmare, and she began most heartily to wish 
herself back at the Everglades, dancing the Lanc¬ 
ers with cousin Mark. 

Coincidences happen ; not in stories simply, but 
in real life. The vessel is wrecked in sight of port ; 
the day the owner dies ; the man we meet on the 
steamboat at the headwaters of the Saguenay 
River, has, unknown to us until then, ate, drank, 
and slept in the next house all winter, within ten 
feet of us ; the dear friend we have known so long, 
is at last discovered to be intimate with that other 


fire! 


59 


dear friend we love so well, and finally it comes out 
that all three of us were born in the same little 
town in New Hampshire. 

Now the coincidence that happened on this par¬ 
ticular evening was as follows : 

While Pet was making her way along Washing¬ 
ton Street in the dark, another girl about thirteen 
years of age, named Bridget Flanagan, was stand¬ 
ing on the third gallery of the Crystal Palace, in 
the same good city of Boston, looking down into 
Lincoln Street. Like Pet, she was wondering 
whether anything could be done to aid the poor. 
Not that any such words passed through her mind. 
Dear me, no! I doubt if she would have even 
known what “ aid ” meant, that word being in her 
mind associated solely with lemons of a shrivelled 
and speckled character. If she had spoken her 
thoughts, which she sometimes had a queer way 
of doing, she might have said something like this : 
“ Don’t I wish I could git out o’ this ! An’ the 
rich folks wid all the money they wants, an’ nothin’ 
to do but buy fans an’ use ’em up. My! ain’t it 
hot ? ” 

It was hot. There was a man playing on a bag¬ 
pipe in the street below, and not only had a crowd 


6o 


SILVER RAGS. 


of children and idlers surrounded him as he stood 
before a brilliantly lighted (and licensed) liquor 
store, but the long rickety galleries which run in 
front of each floor in the “Palace” were full of 
half-dressed, red-faced women and children, who 
leaned on the dirty railing and listened to the 
music, just as the guests at the “ Everglades ” at 
the same time were listening to their orchestra of 
a dozen pieces. 

In the gallery overhead Bridget heard two women 
dancing and shouting noisily. Somewhere in the 
building a child was crying loudly in a different key 
from the bag-pipe. Bridget didn’t notice these 
things particularly ; she was used to them. Only 
there came over the young human girl-heart which 
was beating beneath the rags and in the midst of 
this wretchedness a sick longing for — what ? 
Bridget did not know. 

“ It’s the hot weather it is,” she said to herself; 
“it’s usin’ me up intirely. I’ll jist go an’ have a 
bit av a walk.” 

Accordingly she issued forth, shortly afterward, 
with a broken-nosed pitcher in her hand, and made 
her way to one of the shops across the street. 
There were plenty to choose from — the city had 


FIRE ! 


61 


looked out for that. Their licenses were as strong 
as the Municipal Seal, stamped on one corner, with 
its picture of church steeples and clouds, and 
heavens above and pure, broad sea beneath, could 
make them. Nearly every second house in the 
street beckoned with flaring lights to its pile of 
whiskey barrels and shining counters ; the dark in¬ 
tervals along the street, between these shops, were 
the ruined homes of those who went in at the 
lighted doors. 

Opposite, the Crystal Palace, then at its filthiest 
and worst, reared its ugly shape like a fat weed, 
watered day and night by whiskey and gin. 

[Within the last twelvemonth this building has 
been torn down, and Lincoln Street largely re¬ 
claimed from the squalor and wretchedness which 
marked it on the evening of which I am speaking; 
but within a stone’s throw of the same spot, the 
same sights may be witnessed any night in the 
week. The district is popularly known as the 
“ South Cove.”] 

As Bridget pattered along the sidewalk with her 
bare feet, a coarse-looking woman in front of her 
threw something down on the bricks and laughed 
hoarsely. The “ something ” resolved itself into 


62 


SILVER RAGS. 


a kitten, which picked itself up and walked pain¬ 
fully over to a burly, broad-shouldered man who 
was sitting on the steps of a basement alley, so 
that his arms rested on the sidewalk. The kitten 
curled up beside him. The man put out his big, 
red hand and stroked it once, then went on with 
his smoking. The kitten was purring and licking 
its aching feet as Bridget, who had paused a mo¬ 
ment from some dull feeling of compassion, went 
on her way. 

Leaving her pitcher at the bar, with the injunc¬ 
tion that it should be filled and ready for her re¬ 
turn, she passed out of the store and walked slowly 
down Lincoln Street toward the Albany Station. 
The street was full of children running to and fro 
with shouts and screams of laughter or pain ; some 
of them going in and out of the shops with pitchers 
and mugs, some lying stupidly in the gutter. The 
air was stifling, and as Bridget reached the corner 
she saw the groups of belated people hurrying out 
to the Newtons and Wellesley, where they might 
cool themselves in the pure air, with whatever 
means of comfort money could purchase. 

Pet Sibley and Bridget Flanagan both reflected 
upon this as they unconsciously drew nearer and 


FIRE ! 


63 


nearer together. Pet was tired, and was beginning 
to look for a horse-car to take her to her aunt’s 
house. The little Irish princess had turned and left 
her “ Palace ” until she was now near the head of 
Summer Street. 

Ten steps further, and they met upon the corner, 
with the great gilded eagle’s wings outstretched 
above their heads. Both paused for a moment. 
Pet was dressed as she had been in the boat — all 
in white, with a pretty fluffy ostrich feather curving 
around her broad straw hat, and a fleecy shawl 
thrown over her shoulders. Bridget’s shawl was 
not fleecy, and her dress was not white. Nor did 
she wear lawn shoes. 

What either would have said I do not know. 
Perhaps nothing. Perhaps their lives, just touch¬ 
ing at this point, would have glided farther and 
farther apart, until there was no room in this earth 
for them to meet again. But at that moment 
something happened. 

“ Look o' that! ” cried Bridget. 

“ See! " cried Pet at the same moment; and 
they both pointed to the third story of a high 
granite block across the street. One of the win¬ 
dows was slightly open, and through this narrow 


6 4 


SILVER RAGS. 


space a delicate curl of blue smoke floated softly 
out, laughed noiselessly to itself, and disappeared. 
They could hardly have seen it at all, but for the 
powerful electric light upon the corner. Another 
puff of smoke, and another ; then a steady stream, 
growing blacker and larger every moment. A 
faint glow, reflected from somewhere inside, shone 
upon the window panes. 

“ What shall we do ? ” cried Pet; “ it’s all on 
fire, and nobody knows! ” Instinctively she looked 
at Bridget for an answer. Somehow the difference 
between herself and the ragged little Irish girl did 
not seem so great just then. 

The fire had broken out near the place where 
the great fire of 1872 started. Each of the girls 
could remember dimly that awful night of red skies 
and glittering steeples. The massive blocks had 
been rebuilt, business had rolled through the streets 
once more, property of value untold lay piled away 
in those great warehouses on every side, and only 
these two slender, wide-eyed girls knew of that 
ugly black smoke, with its gleaming tongues of 
flame, gliding about over counter and shelf, as Pet 
had seen the rat, a few minutes before. 

“ Sure we must give the alar-r-m,” said Bridget, 


FIRE ! 


65 


hurriedly, gathering the faded shawl about her 
neck. 

“ But I don’t know how. Do you ? ” 

“Don’t I ? You jist come along wid me — run, 
now! ” 

They almost flew down the street, dainty shoes 
and bare brown feet side by side. 

“ Here’s the box,” panted Bridget, pausing sud¬ 
denly before an iron box attached to a telegraph 
pole. “ Can yer read where it says the key is ? ” 

Pet read : “ Key at Faxon’s Building, corner of 
Bedford and Summer Streets.” 

To reach the corner, rouse the watchman, snatch 
the key from his sleepy hands, rush back again, and 
whisk open the iron box was the work of two min¬ 
utes. 

Perfect silence everywhere. 

“ Look a-here, now,” said Bridget, breathlessly, 
standing on tiptoe. “ I’ve seen ’em do it.” 

She pulled the handle once, twice. Then they 
waited, their hearts beating fiercely. They were 
off the travelled ways, and no one passed by them. 
All this time the smoke was creeping up the stair¬ 
ways of the lofty building, and the red fire was 
quietly devouring yard after yard of wood-work. 


66 


SILVER RAGS. 


Bridget raised her hand to pull the lever for the 
third and last time — when they both started. 

All over the broad, restless, wakeful city, the 
heavy bells rang out, one following another like 
echoes. Sick people turned wearily in their beds ; 
babies awoke to bewail their broken naps ; men 
and women stopped at the corners of streets to 
count the number, and shook their heads. 

“Bad place, down by Summer and Chauncey 
Streets — let’s go ! ” said one to another. 

One — Two — Three — Four — Five- 

One — Two. 

Miss Augusta Vernon consulted her fire-alarm 
card, which always hung by the sitting-room man¬ 
tel-piece ; then she went to the front window and 
threw open the blinds. There was a faint flush on 
the sky, like the coming dawn. 

“ Dear me ! ” exclaimed aunt Augusta. “ It’s a 
real fire. And this hot night, too ! I do hope 
they’ll have it out soon, poor fellows ! ” 

As she took her seat by the window, and watched 
the light growing broader and redder every mo¬ 
ment, her strong, kind features showed much more 
anxiety than one would expect, considering that it 
was not her store that was burning, nor her fire- 



FIRE ! 


67 


men fighting the fire. But aunt Augusta, in the 
city, had a curious way like that of aunt Puss up in 
the Maine woods, of concerning herself with other 
people’s troubles and trying to lighten them, with 
loving-kindness or with money. As she had a 
plentiful supply of both, her sympathy in such 
cases was apt to be a substantial affair, really worth 
counting upon — as many a poor creature, sick and 
in prison, could testify. 

As soon as the bells rang out, a great awe fell 
upon the two girls. What mighty host of giants 
had they roused from sleep, calling hoarsely to one 
another over the housetops ? 

Pet drew closer to Bridget, and grasped her 
hand. Even Bridget seemed dismayed at first, but 
quickly recovering herself, she half pushed, half 
drew Pet up a flight of high stone steps near by. 

44 Yer’ll git yer dress all kivered wid mud, if yer 
don’t kape out o’ the strate,” she said, as she turned 
away. 44 I’m a-goin’ ter stay down an’ tell ’em 
where the fire is. It says so on them little cards.” 

44 But the crowd ! When they come you will get 
hurt.” 

44 Hm ! I’m used to worse crowds nor ever you 
There ! I hear ’em now ! ” 


saw. 


68 


SILVER RAGS. 


As Pet listened there rose a faint, far-off rattle of 
wheels upon the pavement, mingled with a jan¬ 
gling sound of gongs and horns. 

“It’s the ingine!” cried Bridget, in great ex¬ 
citement. “ It’s cornin’ ! ” 

But other things were coming too. Bridget had 
taken her stand directly in front of the alarm-box, 
and a stream of men and boys who poured around 
the corner jostled her roughly and pushed her to and 
fro. 

“ Come ! — come quick ! ” called Pet, just able to 
make herself heard above the noise of the crowd. 
But Bridget shook her head, and pointed down the 
street. 

It was a grand sight—the engine, with its scarlet 
wheels, and its polished stack sending out a long 
trail of brilliant sparks like shooting stars, the two 
powerful black horses tearing furiously over the 
pavements, yet subject to the slightest word or 
touch of their driver, who sat behind them firmly 
braced against the foot-board, the reins taut as 
steel, and the gong sounding beneath without 
pause. 

“ Get out of the way here ! ” shouted a burly 
policeman, forcing his way through the crowd. 


FIRE ! 


6 9 


The men surged back, and nobody noticed the 
little barefooted figure who was hurled violently 
against the building. She uttered a faint cry, and 
held up one foot, as a lame spaniel might do. A 
young man with delicate clothes and a light cane, 
who had stopped on his way to the station to “ see 
the fun,” had set his heavy boot on the little, shrink¬ 
ing foot. She might have got out of the way more 
quickly, but she must keep to the front to tell the 
firemen. 

The engine thundered up to the box and stopped, 
hissing and smoking furiously. The black horses 
quivered and pawed the pavement, shaking white 
flecks of foam over their sleek bodies. 

‘‘Where’s the fire ? ” called the driver sharply. 

“ Blest if I know — ” began one of the men ad¬ 
dressed, but he was interrupted. 

“Sure it’s on Summer Street, sir, ’most up to 
Washington, on the other side.” 

It was a surprisingly small, shrill voice for such 
an important piece of information, but it sounded 
reliable. The driver knew that every moment now 
might mean the loss of thousands of dollars, and, 
giving his horses the rein, was galloping off up the 
street again, almost before Bridget’s words were 


70 


SILVER RAGS. 


out of her mouth. A few moments after, the pant¬ 
ing engine and the distant shouts of the firemen 
told of the work they were doing. 

Well, the block was saved. A few thousand dol¬ 
lars’ damage on goods fully insured was all. Next 
morning the papers, being somewhat hard pressed 
for news, gave “full particulars ” of the fire. 

“ It was fortunate,” said the eloquent reporter, in 
closing his account, “that the fire was discovered 
by some passer-by, who promptly pulled in an 
alarm from box fifty-two. Five minutes later, and 
the loss must have been almost incalculable.” 

“ Full particulars ? ” Perhaps not quite full. 

When the engine rattled away, with the crowd 
after it, Pet had come timidly down the steps. 
Bridget had been borne away by the crowd, and was 
not to be found. 

“ Where are you ? ” she called. “ I do not know 
your name — oh-h ! ” She stopped with a pitiful 
little cry. 

Bridget was crouched in a miserable heap just 
around the corner. She was stroking her bruised 
foot with trembling hands, and crying softly to her¬ 
self. Somehow she felt like the kitten, only she 
had no one to go to; and her head was so dizzy ! 


FIRE ! 


7 * 


Then she looked up, and saw the white shawl 
and the ostrich feather and Pet’s eyes. And once 
more Pet forgot the difference. 

A policeman found them there a few minutes 
later. Pet had her arms around the faded shawl, 
and Bridget’s tously little head was lying wearily 
against her shoulder. The poor trampled foot was 
bound up in somebody’s embroidered handkerchief. 

Pet did not give the officer time to speak. She 
was on her own ground now. 

“ Will you call a hack or a herdic, please ? 
This girl is sick.” 

The tone was quiet, but plainly said it was 
accustomed to giving directions, and having them 
obeyed, too. 

The policeman had approached with a rough joke 
on his tongue’s end, but it turned into a respectful 
“Yes’m, certainly.” 

Of course they went straight to aunt Augusta, 
who was still sitting by the window, and who was 
so used to emergencies that she took the whole 
affair quite as a matter of course. 

“ I’ve told the Lord I’m not worth it,” she had 
been heard to say, once, “ but such as I am, I want 
to help. So I’m always expecting Him to give me 


72 


SILVER RAGS. 


something of the sort, just as my father used to 
let me hold the tacks when he was at work on 
pictures or carpets.” 

Bridget was promptly put to bed and her foot 
dressed by Miss Augusta’s own deft hands. Be¬ 
fore long she was fast asleep, which probably didn’t 
make much difference with her state of mind, as 
the whole scene, with Pet and the motherly woman 
hovering about her, was the best kind of a dream. 

Meanwhile Pet told the story to her aunt; she 
had learned from the Irish girl, on the way to the 
house, that she had no father or mother living, but 
made her home with a dissipated uncle and brother, 
who took turns in the prisoner’s dock of the crim¬ 
inal court; where, likely enough, Bridget would 
have taken her own turn, before long. 

“ I know what Pm going to do,” said Miss 
Augusta, decisively. “ I’m going to send her up to 
Mrs. Percival. When are you going back, Pet ? ” 

“Day after to-morrow, I think.” 

“ Well, you can take her along as well as not.” 

“ But her family—” 

“ I’ll see Mr. Waldron — he’s the City Mission¬ 
ary— and he’ll fix it all right, We’ve often ar¬ 
ranged matters like this.” 


fire! 


7 3 


“ But do you suppose Mrs. Percival will take 
her ? ” asked Pet rather doubtfully. 

“ I don’t see ’s she can help it,” said Miss Au¬ 
gusta, with a short laugh. “ Don’t you fear. I 
know 4 aunt Puss ’ better than you do, though I 
never’ve seen her. Kittie and Bess told me all 
about her, last spring.” So it came about that 
when Pet took her seat in the Northern train, a few 
days later, a neatly dressed little Irish girl sat be¬ 
side her, awed into silence by the furniture of the 
car and, shortly afterward, by its rapid motion. 

When the conductor came round for the tickets, 
her hand furtively stole over and clutched a fold of 
Pet’s rich dress, for protection from the man in 
uniform. And Pet had to reassure her, and point 
out interesting bits of landscape as they flew north¬ 
ward toward The Pines, side by side. 


CHAPTER V. 


IN THE DEN. 


T The Pines, during Pet’s absence, the sum- 



Jr\. rner days passed swiftly and joyously ; joy¬ 
ously at least for all but one of the party. Tom 
was no longer the bright, merry, mischievous Tom 
of old. He joined in the sports and rambles of the 
others, it is true, but with a sober face and lagging 
step quite unnatural for him ; and he was often 
away from the house, alone. As these strange 
ways grew more marked, Randolph tried to get at 
at the source of the boy’s trouble. But Tom 
shrugged his cousin’s arm off from his shoulders 
where it had been affectionately laid, and told him 
gruffly to “ let a fellow alone — nothing was the 
matter! ” 

It was almost time for Pet to return. The young 
people had arranged to ride over to the railroad 
and meet her, with Ruel and the big wagon. They 
had received a letter from her, telling a little about 


74 


IN THE DEN. 


75 


her experience at the fire, and they were extremely 
anxious to hear the whole story, and to see little 
Bridget, the heroine of the occasion. Mr. Wald¬ 
ron, with his great, kindly heart, had given Miss 
Augusta all the aid she asked, and more; so there 
was no obstacle in the way of Bridget's coming, 
unless it were aunt Puss. And the idea of aunt 
Puss being an obstacle — ! 

On the day before, Kittie and the captain had 
planned to go into the woods and gather oak leaves 
for trimming, to decorate Pet’s room. What was 
their dismay, on waking that morning, to hear the 
rain pouring steadily on the shingles over their 
heads. 

“ Now we can’t get any leaves ! ” exclaimed Bess 
sorrowfully, as she stood at the window, looking 
out at the blurred landscape and the slanting lines 
of rain between her and the wood-lot. “ What ever 
shall we do, all day ? ” 

“ O, I don’t know,” laughed Kittie, giving her 
sister’s long brown hair a toss up backward and 
down over her eyes. “ Uncle Percival will think 
of something nice, I guess. And I’m glad the 
storm didn’t come to-morrow, anyway ! ” 

“ Perhaps it will.” 


;6 


SILVER RAGS, 


“ Perhaps it won't! ” Kittie’s face and voice 
were full of sunshine. 

“That’s right, Kittlin’,” said aunt Puss, coming 
in at that moment, and kissing the girls. “ That’s 
right, dear, always look on the bright side ; and if 
you can’t find it in to-day, borrow it from to-mor¬ 
row. The Bible doesn’t anywhere say, ‘sufficient 
unto the day is the^wa? thereof.’ ” 

“ Please, ma’am,” said Kittie, returning the kiss 
affectionately, “what did you call me?” 

“ It’s the old Scotch form of ‘ kitten,' ” said aunt 
Puss, smiling. “ I first came across it in George 
MacDonald’s story of Alec Forbes — which you 
both must read before you’re much older.” 

The sunshine from Kittie’s face began to rest on 
Bess, and to shine back a little. 

“ That’s what Kit always does, auntie,” she de¬ 
clared ; “lookson the bright side. When anybody’s 
sick at our house, and there’s no particular change, 
she always says to people that inquire, ‘ No worse, 
thank you ! ’ instead of ‘ No better,’ the way some 
folks do.” 

At the kitchen table, the subject was started up 
again, and Randolph volunteered one of the little 
rhymes his brother had written. It was as follows : 


IlnIJ 








































































































































































' 

























































































* 






































IN THE DEN. 


77 


DANDELION. 

A dandelion in a meadow grew 
Among the waving grass and cowslips yellow; 

Dining on sunshine, breakfasting on dew, 

He was a right contented little fellow. 

Each morn his golden head he lifted straight 
To catch the first sweet breath of coming day; 

Each evening closed his sleepy eyes, to wait 
Until the long, dark night should pass away. 

One afternoon, in sad, unquiet mood, 

I passed beside this tiny, bright-faced flower, 

And begged that he would tell me, if he could, 

The secret of his joy through sun and shower. 

He looked at me with open eyes, and said : 

“ I know the sun is somewhere shining clear, 

And when I cannot see him overhead, 

I try to be a little sun, right here 1 ” 

When the applause had ceased, and the talk had 
drifted in other directions, Mr. Percival looked 
around the circle and with a twinkle in his eye 
proposed that after breakfast the young people 
should make him a visit in his den. 

“And we’ll have a rag fire,” he added soberly. 

“ A rag fire ? ” 

“ Yes, In the summer time I rarely burn any¬ 
thing but rags in the den.” 


SILVER RAGS. 


78 


Now this “ Den ” was a most mysterious locality, 
which they had often heard alluded to, but where 
little company was admitted. Mr. Percival, I 
should add, was, as you may have guessed from 
aunt Puss’ remarks about the “ kittlin’,’’ a most 
earnest reader and lover of George MacDonald’s 
books, which perhaps accounts for the curious ar¬ 
rangement I am about to describe. 

“Are we to put on our wraps, Uncle ? ” asked 
Kittie, in some doubt whether the Den was out-of- 
doors. “ O, I wish Pet was here ! ” 

“ Pet shall come too, the very first rainy day. 
No ; you’ll need no wraps, dear. Only follow me 
softly, and don’t speak aloud!” And his eyes 
twinkled again as he led the way out of the 
kitchen, and toward the front part of the house. 

I have already, in the former volume of this 
series, partly described this old “mansion-house” 
which the Percivals had occupied for generations. 
The earliest of the family, Sir Richard Percyvalle, 
came over from the north of England in 1690 or 
thereabouts. Half a Scotchman, he brought with 
him alike the love of wild country, and of the 
ancient castles and baronial halls so dear-to the 
Englishman. This “mansion-house,” as it was 


IN THE DEN. 


79 


called throughout the county, situated in the 
heart of a pine forest, near rugged hills and danc¬ 
ing brooks, was the result. And here some branch 
of the Percival stock had lived contentedly ever 
since, respected and loved by their few neighbors; 
some, indeed, finding their way to the great cities 
and universities and even back across the Atlantic, 
in pursuit of their education and professional 
studies; but at least one manly representative of 
the family always inhabiting the old house, which 
stood as stanchly as ever against the blasts of the 
North Wind and the rigors of the New England 
winter. It had all sorts of wings, ells and addi¬ 
tions built on, extending the original structure as 
the occupant’s whims or needs demanded. The 
portion in actual use by the family throughout the 
year was but a small fraction of the whole house. 

The injunction not to speak aloud considerably 
increased the fun as well as the awe of the occa¬ 
sion, as Randolph, with his cousins, followed their 
uncle in a dumb but not altogether silent row. 

Leaving the kitchen, they crossed a narrow 
passage-way leading into the sitting-room. Beyond 
this was a sort of closet or cloak-room, and then 
the front entry, a cold, cheerless place with a 


8 o 


SILVER RAGS. 


green fan-light over the door which was now 
entirely disused. 

“Here the carriages used to drive up in ancient 
days,” said Mr. Percival, “ the postilions cracking 
their whips and the clumsy wheels lumbering 
heavily over the driveway. Then elegant ladies 
would alight, and passing through the open door 
ascend that staircase, their long gowns, stiff with 
silk and brocade, trailing behind them. Hark! 
Do you hear them rustling past us and up the 
stairs ? ” 

The girls listened, partly for the fun of the thing, 
and partly because of the impressiveness of their 
uncle's manner. The rain beat drearily upon the 
door, and long, hanging vines brushed against it 
on the outside. Within, it was so dark that they 
could scarcely distinguish the staircase. 

On they went again, up the very stairs the by¬ 
gone beauties had ascended, through two broad 
chambers whose shutters were closed and nailed 
tight. Then down again, over a narrow flight of 
steps, and along a crooked passage, so dark that 
they had to feel their way. 

Kittie laughed nervously, as she clutched Bes' 
sie’s hand. 


IN THE DEN. 


8 I 


“ Did you ever see anything like it! ” she 
whispered. “I feel exactly as if I were in a 
story.” 

“ I wish we’d stayed in the kitchen,” said Tom. 
“ What’s the good of coming into this dark hole? 
I’m going back.” And in spite of the remon¬ 
strances of the others, he turned and retraced his 
steps. 

The sound of his footfalls, echoing down the 
the passage, made the place drearier than ever. 

“ Hush! ” said Mr. Percival, out of the dark¬ 
ness. “ Listen! ” 

They paused and strained their ears to catch a 
sound above that of the storm, whose dull roar 
beat indistinctly, like ocean waves, on the gables 
overhead. 

“ I hear something! ” exclaimed Randolph 
under his breath, entering fully into the spirit of 
the adventure. 

“ So do I! ” said both girls at once. “ It’s a 
kind of creaking, snapping noise !” 

“ Here,” added Mr. Percival solemnly, throwing 
open a door they had not before perceived, “ is the 
entrance to the Den.” 

The room into which they now emerged from 


82 


SILVER RAGS. 


the narrow entry was apparently once intended for 
a dining-hall, though the young people had never 
before known of even its existence. It was of 
oblong shape, and had at one end a huge fire¬ 
place. The windows were heavily shuttered; the 
air was damp and musty. In the dim light they 
could make out clusters of old-fashioned candela¬ 
bra, projecting here and there from the walls like 
spectral arms. 

“ Come on ! ’* said Mr. Percival, advancing 
toward the end of the shadowy room. To the 
surprise of all three, he walked straight into the 
fireplace, stooping but slightly to avoid the man¬ 
tel. The rest followed him, wondering. The 
snapping noise was now louder than ever. Out¬ 
side, the wind moaned drearily. 

Mr. Percival now turned sharply to the left and 
pressed with the flat of his hand against a pro¬ 
jecting brick upon that side of the fireplace. 

What was the utter amazement of Randolph and • 
the girls, as they crowded up to discover what he 
was about, to see — not a brick wall where had 
been one a moment before, but mere black space. 

“ Come on! ” said their uncle again, stepping 
into the opening. 


IN THE DEN. 


83 


Randolph went in after him, and the girls next, 
not without their misgivings. 

“ It’s exactly like a dream ! ” 

“Or the Arabian Nights. Pinch me, Bess, to 
see if I’m asleep ! ” 

As soon as they found themselves in the new 
passage, they heard the wall close behind them. 
Half a dozen steps further, and — 

“ This is* my Den ! ” said Mr. Percival. 

The girls rubbed their eyes, and stared silently. 
This is what they saw : 

A small room, perhaps ten feet square. One 
window, with a deep casement, making a window- 
seat at least two feet wide A warm-tinted carpet 
on the floor, where three Maltese kittens tumbled 
over each other in solemn play ; walls lined with 
books from floor to ceiling ; an open fire of twigs 
and stiff birch bark, blazing cheerily in a wee fire¬ 
place — and in front of it, rocking serenely to and 
fro with her knitting, aunt Puss ! She looked up 
with her pleasant smile as the young people en¬ 
tered. 

“ He gave you a good surprise this time, dears, 
didn’t he ? ” 

“ I never saw anything like it! ” they exclaimed 


8 4 


SILVER RAGS. 


in a breath. u How in the world did you get here, 
ma’am ? ” 

Mrs. Percival looked at her husband, who took 
his seat in the large, old-fashioned arm-chair which 
played an important part during the “ Pine Cone 
stories ” in the winter ; at the same time motioning 
to the others to lie down on a bear-skin rug, before 
the fire. It must be borne in mind that in North¬ 
ern Maine it is cool enough for fires, on stormy 
days, throughout the year. 

“I suppose,” he began, “it’s of no use making 
a mystery of it any longer. The fact is, you are in 
a chimney at this minute. Look! ” 

He pointed to the ceiling, which they now 
noticed was of some dark wood. In the centre, or 
nearly so, was an opening, about eighteen inches 
square and cased in the same wood, through which 
they could see the sky. The opening was covered 
at the top, far above the level of the ceiling, by a 
dull, glazed window, which could be raised or closed 
from below by means of strong cords. 

“ But what — what has become of the fire and 
the bricks, and all that, sir ? ” 

“ I’ll tell you,” said uncle Will, stooping to pick 
up two of the kittens in one hand. “ In old times, 


IN THE DEN. 


85 


when my great-grandfather lived here, there was 
always danger of attack of some kind. The woods 
were full of Indians, though most of them hereabout 
were friendly, and there was a large Indian village 
on the shores of the pond, where the old gentleman 
and his family were held in equal love and respect. 
However, roving bands were likely to turn up at 
any time, with tomahawk and scalping-knife. Then 
there were privateering squads of outlaw French and 
Canadians, who made raids on the frontier ; and as 
we were always stanch Whigs, the family was not 
safe even from the English, the royalist partisans 
having suspicions of a spy in this locality.” 

“ I thought ‘ Whigs ’ were the government party 
in England,” put in Randolph. 

4t So they are, to-day ; but in the old Revolution¬ 
ary times the Tories were for the king, and the 
Whigs for independence. Well, for all these rea¬ 
sons, it was thought best to have some secret hiding- 
place and way of escape, in case of need. • Where 
we are now, stood a huge chimney, some eight feet 
square, supported on stone-and-brick arches in the 
cellar. Around this chimney, as a precaution 
against fire, was left a space of two or three feet 
between the bricks and the wall of the house on 


86 


SILVER RAGS. 


that side where you see my little window. A slid¬ 
ing door was constructed in the side of the dining- 
hall fireplace, by which one could enter this space, 
and from that a trap-door opened upon a rough 
staircase, into the cellar under the masonry.” 

“ It doesn’t seem possible that such things can 
really be, right here in Maine! ” exclaimed Bess. 
“ It’s like stories.” 

“ If they can really be — as they are — in thou¬ 
sands of ancient dwellings in Europe and the East, 
why not in America, where the dangers were quite 
as terrible ? Besides, dear, you will find out some 
day that the real life of people going on every¬ 
where around you is much more strange than any 
story-book you ever read.” 

“ But please, wouldn’t one starve or smother in 
that place down cellar ? ” 

“ From the narrow space under the arches, I am 
told there led a long, underground passage-way, 
which came to the surface within a quarter of a 
mile of the house. I always fancied it was in the 
pasture, but never could find it. This end was 
tightly closed up — if indeed the whole passage¬ 
way was not an empty tale — years before I was 
born.” 


IN THE DEN. 


87 


“And what has become of the chimney ? ” 

“ It was taken out as useless and unsafe, when 
I was a boy. A few years ago it occurred to me 
to wall in and fit up the space as a little study. 
The ordinary entrance is from the sitting-room 
closet, only ten feet from where you sit now. That 
is the way your aunt Puss came in.” 

The girls gave a relieved laugh as the vague 
terrors of the winding and shadowy halls melted. 

“ IPs as cosey as it can be,” said Kittie, stroking 
one of her namesakes, and glancing over the 
books, the writing desk in one corner, and the 
dancing flames. 

“But the rags, the rags!” cried Bess. “You 
said you only burned rags, Uncle. Now I’ve 
caught you! ” 

“ Randolph,” remarked Mr. Percival, without • 
directly answering her question, “ will you please 
hand me that small book on the third shelf behind 
you — no, the next — that’s it.” 

He ran the leaves over rapidly, and handed the 
book back, open, to the boy. “ Please read that 
verse. The writer, who you will see is Mr. Trow¬ 
bridge, is supposed to be searching the woods for 
a bird whose song he has just heard.” 


88 


SILVER RAGS. 


Randolph turned his back a little to the fire, as 
he lay on the bear-skin, and read as follows : 

Long-drawn and clear its closes were — 

As if the hand of Music through 
The sombre robe of silence drew 
A thread of golden gossamer ; 

So pure a flute the fairy blew. 

Like beggared princes of the wood, 

In silver rags the birches stood ; 

The hemlocks, lordly counselors, 

Were dumb ; the sturdy servitors, 

In beechen jackets patched and gray, 

Seemed waiting spell-bound all the day 
That low, entrancing note to hear, — 

“Pe-wee ! pe-wee ! peerl ” 

The reader looked up, and seeing the interested 
faces of his listeners, begged leave to read two 
more verses, they were so quaintly lovely : 

I quit the search, and sat me down 
Beside the brook, irresolute, 

And watched a little bird in suit 
Of sombre olive, soft and brown, 

Perched in the maple branches, mute ; 

With greenish gold its vest was fringed, 

Its tiny cap was ebon tinged, 

With ivory pale its wings were barred, 

And its dark eyes were tender-starred. 


IN THE DEN. 


89 


“ Dear bird,” I said, “ what is thy name ? ” 

And twice the mournful answer came, 

So faint and far, and yet so near, — 

“ Pe-wee ! pe-wee ! peer ! ” 

For so I found my forest bird, — 

The pewee of the loneliest woods, 

Sole singer in these solitudes, 

Which never robin’s whistle stirred, 

Where never blue-bird’s plume intrudes. 

Quick darting through the dewy morn, 

The redstart trilled his twittering horn 

And vanished in thick boughs; at even 

Like liquid pearls fresh showered from heaven, 

The high notes of the lone wood-thrush 
Fell on the forest’s holy hush; 

But thou all day complainest here, — 

“ Pe-wee ! pe-wee ! peer / ” 

“ It is lovely! ” said Bess. 

“ There’s one word in it that I don’t like, 
though,” remarked aunt Puss, making her needles 
gleam in the firelight as they flew faster than ever. 

“ I know,” cried Kittie, catching her eye, “ it’s 
* complainest ’! ” 

Just then Tom came in, evidently from the 
guidance of Ruel, outside. His sisters were too 
much interested in the room and the poem to 
notice that his clothes were wet, as if he had been 
in the rain. 


9 o 


SILVER RAGS. 


“ Better come up by the fire, old fellow,” said 
Randolph, so quietly that the others did not hear. 
Tom started, but did as his cousin suggested, 
without a word. 

“ You are right, dear,” continued aunt Puss, “no 
bird ever ‘ complains’.” 

“Oh! but it’s just poetry, you know, Aunt,” said 
Bess eagerly. “ Of course the birds don’t really 
complain — ” 

“ Good poetry is always true,” said Mr. Perci- 
val. “Your aunt seems to me quite right, my 
girl. The lovely things that our Father has made 
should not be described as * complaining,’ even in 
fancy. After what is said in the Book, about 
sparrows, surely no bird ought to complain even of 
falling to the ground. The real secret of it was, I 
suspect, that the writer was himself in an unquiet 
mood, and made the ‘little bird in suit of sombre 
olive ’ sing out his own discontent -— as we are 
very apt to do.” 

“But the rags — O, I see, I see, it’s just birch- 
bark hanging on the trunks and boughs of the 
trees! ” 

“ Let me see,” said uncle Percival, smiling, 
“ whose favorite tree was the white birch, when we 


IN THE DEN. 


91 


were talking around our pine-cone fire last win¬ 
ter?” 

“ Mine,” said Bess. “ But I never thought of 
the bark as ‘silver rags’; nor of the trees as 
princes.” 

“Why not have a silver-rag story as well as 
pine-cone stories ? ” asked Randolph. “ We can 
throw on bits of bark to keep the fire up, just as 
we did the cones ; we only want a little blaze, any¬ 
way.” 

“I was afraid of it, I was afraid of it!” 
exclaimed Mr. Percival in mock dismay. “ I think 
I have an engagement in the lower pasture! ” 

An immediate assault followed, from which the 
good-natured old man rescued himself at last, 
breathless and rumpled, on promise of a story. 
Several broad sheets of birch-bark were drawn 
from a little cupboard beside the fireplace and 
given to the girls, who tore them into thin, silky 
strips, to be tossed on the fire during the progress 
of the story. 


CHAPTER VI. 


A SMALL HERO. 


ID you ever hear how a small boy — a very 



I 7 small boy indeed — saved Holland?” began 
Mr. Percival, after reflecting a moment. 

“ O no, sir. Is it a true story ? ” 

“ Absolutely true, with the exception, perhaps, 
of the name.” 

“ We never heard of him, anyway.” 

“ If you were a set of Dutch young people, you 
would have! The boy Hans, that did this brave 
deed, was a far finer fellow than Casabianca, who 
* stood on the burning deck,’ and supposed his 
father wanted him to burn to death for nothing 
but sheer obedience. For Hans accomplished 
something by his grand courage and endurance ; 
he saved a whole nation ! ” 

“ Do tell us about him. Kittie, throw on another 
piece of bark, and don’t let that cunning little 
Maltee tumble into the fire ! ” 


A SMALL HERO. 


93 


“Well, Holland, you see, is a queer place. 
Hundreds of years ago people came upon a great 
swampy piece of land, running far out into the 
sea, and said, ‘ Now if we could only keep out the 
ocean in some way, this would be a nice place to 
live in. We could have towns and cities all along 
the coast, and we could build ships to sail around 
the world, and at last we should become so pow¬ 
erful that any nation would be glad to call us 
friends/ 

“Accordingly they set their wits to work to 
devise some plan for holding back the salt tides, 
which rose and fell as they pleased all through the 
borders of this country. Then they began to 
build huge mounds of earth, or ‘dykes,’ along the 
shore; and they kept on building until they had a 
strong earthen wall nearly or quite around their 
land. Randolph, do you know any similar place 
in the Western Continent ? ” 

“ In some parts of Nova Scotia, I believe, sir.” 

“ And along the Mississippi,” added Tom. 

“ Right, both of you. The result was that the 
sea could no longer flood the fields, but threw its 
great waves and white foam against the outside of 
the dykes as if it were always trying to push its 


94 


SILVER RAGS. 


way in. As soon as people were sure their farms 
would not be washed away and their cattle drowned, 
they built towns, which grew and prospered amaz¬ 
ingly. There was so little high land that there 
were but few streams powerful enough to turn 
mill-wheels, so they made wind-mills to grind their 
wheat and corn. Finally the country was named 
* Holland/ and, as the first dyke-builders had 
expected, great nations were glad to win their 
good-will. 

“ Not many years ago there lived in Holland a 
small boy, rather strong for his age and size, whom 
we will call Hans Van Groot. His home was near 
the sea ; and after he had attended to all his duties 
about home, he liked nothing better than to take a 
walk with his father along the top of the dyke, and 
watch the white cows, as he called the foamy waves, 
come rushing up to the shore, shaking their heads 
and bellowing at him. 

“ ‘ No, no! ’ he would cry out, laughing gleefully, 
‘ you can’t get in, you can’t get in ! The fence is 
too strong for you ! ’ 

“ He might well say so ; for this was a pecu¬ 
liarly dangerous point on the coast, and the people 
knew that if the ocean should break the dyke all 


THE WAVES WERE RUNNING ENORMOUSLY LARGE. 


































. 











































































■ 




’ 















































A SMALL HERO. 


95 


Holland would be in peril, and thousands of lives, 
as well as no end of valuable property, would be 
lost. So they had made the sea-wall doubly thick 
and high for several miles in each direction.” 

“ I’ve seen the waves dash up that way on Star 
Island, at the Shoals,” said Bess. “ They are aw¬ 
ful, after a storm.” 

“ On one of these quiet evening walks Hans’ 
father had been talking to him about little faults. 

“ ‘ If you do wrong once, my boy,’ he said, ‘ no 
matter how little a wrong it is, there will some 
other bad thing be pretty apt to follow it; and so 
all the good in you may be swept away, bit by bit, 
until it is almost impossible to stop it.’ 

“ ‘ But it could be stopped very easily at first, 
father, you mean ? ’ 

“ * Yes, Hans ; just as you could stop with one 
finger a tiny leak in this dyke, which before morn¬ 
ing would be a roaring flood so strong that no hu¬ 
man power could hold it back. And Holland would 
be lost.' 

“ Hans pondered over this a great deal, in his 
quiet way, as he went to bed that night and drove 
the cattle back and forth from their pasture during 
the next few days. He was thinking of it as he 


96 


SILVER RAGS. 


walked along the sea-shore about a week later. His 
father was not with him this time, having gone to 
a city several miles away to spend the night with a 
sick friend.” 

As Mr. Percival reached this point in his story, 
a gust of wind arose that made the old house creak 
and tremble in every joint ; floods of rain dashed 
against the little window, and the smoke at inter¬ 
vals puffed from the fireplace out into the room. 

“ There had been a long storm, and to-night the 
waves were running enormously large — larger 
than Hans had ever seen them. It was flood tide ; 
and as they rolled up, one by one, like long green 
hills, they would topple over and break with a 
sound like thunder, so near that the spray flew all 
over Hans and soaked him through before he had 
been there two minutes. He was plodding along, 
with head bent down against the wind, when all at 
once his heart stood still, and he could almost feel 
his hair start up in terror at what he saw. If you 
had seen it, perhaps you wouldn’t have noticed it; 
but he knew what it meant. It was a very, very 
small stream of watentrickling out through the soil 
and gravel on the inside of the dyke. Hans knew 
it was the sea, which had at last found its way 


A SMALL HERO, 


97 


through. * Before morning,’ his father had said! 
Hans thought one moment of the awful scene that 
was coming, and the picture of his own home, sur¬ 
rounded by the terrible waves, rose before him. 

“ He threw himself flat upon the dyke, and 
thrusting the forefinger of his right hand into the 
hole, shrieked for help. 

“ It was about sunset, and the good Dutch 
country people were all at home for the night. 
The nearest house was half a mile away.” 

“ Why didn’t he put a rock or a stick of wood 
in ? ” demanded Kittie eagerly. 

“ There was no wood handy, I suppose ; and even 
if there had been, the water would have soon forced 
it out of the hole. A pebble would have been use¬ 
less for the same reason. No, the boy must hold 
the ocean with his one little hand — the wind push¬ 
ing, the moon pulling against him. 

“ ‘ Help ! help ! The dyke is breaking ! ’ 

“ Nobody came. The night-fogs began to creep 
up from the sea, the wind shifted back to the old 
stormy quarter and blew hard toward the land. 
The tide was still rising, and the ‘white cows’ 
outside bellowed more and more terribly. The 
stars went out, one by one. 


98 


SILVER RAGS. 


“ ‘ Help ! ’ Hans felt his finger, his hand, his 
whole arm, beginning to ache from the strained 
position, but he did not dare to change. Would 
nobody come ? 

“ Blacker and blacker grew the night. The aw¬ 
ful booming of the sea drowned entirely the now 
feeble cry of the boy. The leak was stopped : but 
could he bear it much longer ? The pain shot up 
and down his arm and shoulder like fire-flashes, 
until he groaned and cried aloud. He said his 
prayers, partly for somebody to come and partly 
for strength to hold out till they did. 

“ The temptation came to him powerfully to take 
out his aching hand and run away. Nobody would 
know of it ; and the pain was so keen ! But he 
said his little Dutch prayers the harder, and — 
held on. 


“ In the early gray of the morning a party of 
men came clambering along the dyke, shouting and 
swinging-lanterns. At last one of them — can you 
guess which ? — espied what looked like a heap of 
rags lying on the ground. 

“ ‘ It’s his clothes ! ’ he cried, in a trembling 

























































































































































































A SMALL HERO. 


99 


voice. Then, ‘It’s Hans himself, thank God! 
thank God ! * 

“ He had 4 held on,’ you see, until he fainted 
with pain and exhaustion. Wet through, cold as 
ice, his whole hand and arm swelled terribly, he 
still held on, unconsciously, with his finger in the 
leak. 

“ So Hans prevented the destruction of the great 
dyke. He lost his own right hand in doing it, to 
be sure ; but in losing that he had saved Holland.” 

“ One more ! One more ! ” chorused the chil¬ 
dren, as their uncle concluded. “ That was so 
short ! ” 

“ Well,” said he, good-naturedly, “ throw on a few 
more ‘silver rags’, Tom ; there’s just time for a 
very short one before dinner. Do you remember 
that little Fred Colebrook who came here for a few 
minutes, the day the Indians were tried ? ” 

“ The one with the curly hair ? Yes, sir. He’s 
visiting at Mr. Thompson’s, isn’t he ? ” 

“Yes; his home is in a queer place — at least, 
what was his home till last year, when his folks 
moved to the city. 

“ It was a little valley, with huge mountains on 
every side, so steep and so close together that you 


100 


SILVER RAGS. 


would think there was no way to get through to the 
world outside. Some of the mountains were cov¬ 
ered with pine and spruce trees, clinging to their 
sides like the shaggy fur of a Newfoundland dog ; 
others were bare from top to bottom, with bits of 
red stone tumbling over their ugly-looking ledges 
almost every day. The valley itself was pretty 
enough, with its tiny green meadow, and a brook 
which laughed and played in the sunshine all day 
long. It was rather a lonesome place, to be sure, 
but Fred did not mind that; for did he not have his 
father, and his mother, and the workingman for 
company; besides the old red cow, the horses, and 
five small gray kittens ? These kittens were Fred’s 
special pets. He was never tired of feeling their 
soft fur and cool little feet against his cheek, and 
hearing their sleepy purr-r-purr-r. Sometimes he 
would carry one of them slyly up to the sober cow, 
feeding quietly in front of the house, and place the 
kitten on her back. It was hard to tell which was 
more astonished, the kitten or the cow. At any 
rate, they both would jump, with such funny looks 
of surprise, and the kitten would run away as fast 
as ever she could, to tell her adventure to the other 
four. 


A SMALL HERO. 


IOI 


“ One warm afternoon in June, Fred was sitting 
on the piazza watching the kittens, as they tum¬ 
bled about after their own tails, scampered across 
the green, or hunted grasshoppers from spot to 
spot. The breeze blew softly, and there was no 
sound in the air but the rush of the brook, just be¬ 
low the hill. 

“ The kittens raced about harder than ever. One 
of them in particular, whose name was Mischief, 
was more active than all the rest. She would jump 
up into the air, turn somersaults, and finally took 
several steps on her hind paws in her eagerness to 
catch a bright red butterfly, just over her head. 
All this amused Fred greatly as he sat there in the 
warm sunlight, with his head leaning against the 
door-post. But Mischief still kept on, becoming 
more and more daring. She seemed to have fairly 
learned to keep her balance on two feet, with the 
aid of her bushy tail, for she ran about, to and fro, 
with her fore-paws stretched out after the butter¬ 
fly, like a child. Once or twice she laughed aloud. 
It did not seem so strange, when she was standing 
up in that fashion, nor was Fred at all surprised to 
notice that she seemed much larger than ever be¬ 
fore. 


102 


SILVER RAGS. 


“ ‘ Of course,’ he thought, ‘ one is taller standing 
up than when one is on one’s hands and knees.’ 
The other kittens had by this time disappeared en¬ 
tirely from sight, leaving only Mischief, who now 
walked about more slowly, and, having caught the 
butterfly, came sauntering up to where Fred was 
sitting. 

“‘Mischief,’ he began severely, ‘ you’ve no 
right to treat that poor butterfly’—Here he 
stopped, rather puzzled ; what she held in her 
hand was certainly no butterfly; it was a fan, 
covered with soft black and scarlet feathers, and 
richly ornamented with gems. 

“ ‘ Well,’ said the kitten, carelessly, ‘go on. You 
were saying it was nothing but-a-fly, I think ; ’ and 
she stooped slightly to arrange the folds of her 
dress. This was of delicate gray velvet, fitting 
closely to her pretty figure and trailing on the 
grass behind her. Indeed, Fred now saw that she 
was not a kitten at all, but a dainty little lady, 
about as high as his shoulder. She watched him 
with an amused smile, and continued to fan herself. 
‘ I had such a run for this fan,’ she went on, as if 
to put the boy at his ease ; * the wind blew it quite 
out of my hand, and — dear me, there it goes 
again ! ’ 


A SMALL HERO. 


103 


“ As she was speaking, the fan made a queer 
sort of flutter in her hands, and floated off into the 
sunshine. She sprang lightly into the air, whirled 
around after it until Fred’s head was giddy, then 
walked back quietly and stood before him again, 
fanning herself slowly, as if nothing had hap¬ 
pened. 

“ Fred felt that to be polite he ought to say 
something. 

“ ‘ I don’t understand, Miss-Miss-’ he 

paused doubtfully. 

“‘That’s right; Mischief,’ she said promptly. 
‘You needn’t trouble yourself to name me over 
again.’ 

“ ‘ But you’re not Mischief,’ persisted Fred. ‘ At 
least not the one I know. She’s a kitten.’ 

“‘Well, what am I, pray?’ Fred rubbed his 
eyes; there she stood, looking almost exactly as 
she had a minute before ; yet that was certainly a 
a fuzzy gray tail resting on the grass, and these 
were certainly his kitten’s paws and round eyes. 
She was purring softly. 

“ ‘ Now, Mischief,’ he cried out eagerly, ‘ you’ve 
been playing tricks, and I’m going to stroke you 
the wrong way, to pay up for it.’ 




104 


SILVER RAGS. 


“ The kitten stopped purring. ‘ Don’t,’ she said, 
sharply; ‘you’ll crumple my dress! There,’ she 
added, in a gentler tone, seeing his dismay, ‘you 
didn’t mean any harm. Be a good boy and I’ll let 
you take a walk with me.’ She threw away her 
fan, and held out her little gloved hand to him, as 
she spoke, for she was a lady again beyond all 
doubt. Fred took her hand with some hesitation, 
and off they started together. As they walked 
along, side by side, Mischief kept up such a steady, 
soft little flow of talk that Fred could not tell it 
from purring half the time. At last they reached 
the foot of one of the high mountains, and Mis¬ 
chief began to scramble up, pulling him along as 
she did so. 

“ ‘ But I — never — was here before,’ he tried to 
say, as his little guide leaped from rock to stump, 
catching them gracefully, and swinging him up 
after her. Mischief never stopped, however, until 
they reached the very tip-top. Then they sat 
down to rest on a mossy rock. The view was glori¬ 
ous ; Fred could see his house, nestling in the val¬ 
ley far, far below him, and looking no bigger than 
a pin in a green pincushion. 

“ ‘ Speaking of pins,’ said Mischief, as if she read 


A SMALL HERO. 


105 


his thoughts, * how many pine needles are there in 
a bunch ? I suppose you learned that at school.’ 

“ ‘ No,’ said Fred, * we had how many shillings 
there are in a guinea, and how many rods make a 
furlong, and—’ Here Mischief appeared so in¬ 
tensely interested that he was quite confused, and 
stopped short. 

“ ‘ Go on,’ she cried, impatiently ; ‘ how do you 
make your fur long ? ’ 

“ Fred was dreadfully puzzled. ‘ Excuse me,’ he 
said, ‘I don’t think you quite understood me.’ 

“ ‘Well, never mind. How about the needles ?’ 

“ * I never learned that table.’ 

“ ‘ Humph ! I thought everybody knew there 
were three in a bunch on a pitch pine, and five in 
a bunch on a white pine. It’s in the catechism.’ 

“ ‘No, it’s not,’ said Fred, decidedly.^ 

“ ‘ It ought to be, then, which is precisely the 
same thing with us kittens.’ 

“ ‘ It isn’t with folks,’ said Fred. 

“ ‘ Well, let me see if you know anything at all. 
Do you see that black cloud coming up over the 
hills ? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes’m.’ 

“ * Probably it will rain to-night, will it not ? ’ 


io 6 


SILVER RAGS. 


“ ‘ Yes’m,’ replied Fred again, meekly. 

“ ‘ Why should it ? ’ 

“ Fred looked at the cloud blankly ; he really had 
never thought of this before. 

“‘Of course you don’t know,’ said Mischief, 
after waiting a moment for him to answer. ‘ It’s 
because every drop of water in that cloud has thin, 
gauzy wings of fog, and when they happen to come 
across a cold breeze — as they often do in these 
high mountains — they shiver and fold up their 
wings so they can’t fly any more, and down they 
come in what you call a rain storm. I knew that 
before I had my eyes open. Now,’ she continued, 

* I’m going to try you just once more, and then we 
must be going. Did you ever see a kitten walk on 
tip-toes ? ’ 

“ ‘ Never,’ said Fred. ‘ Except,’ he added slyly, 
‘when they jump after butterflies.’ 

“ Mischief laughed outright. ‘ Dear me, you 
funny boy,’ she said, ‘ where have you been to 
school ? Why, all kittens walk on tiptoes, from 
morning till night. That little crook that looks 
like a knee is really a kitten’s heel. Horses walk 
the same way, only they have just one toe to walk 
on, and that longer then your arm. You ask that 


A SMALL HERO. 


107 


little gray-bearded man with the blue spectacles, 
that comes here once in awhile, and he will tell 
you that many thousand years ago horses had as 
many toes as kittens, but they are such great, awk¬ 
ward things that all their other toes have been 
taken away from them. A cow has — * 

“‘I know!’ cried Fred. ‘She has a cloven 
hoof, without any toes at all.’ 

“‘You’re all wrong, as usual,’ said Mischief 
briskly; * what you call hoof is her two toes. 
Though why she should be allowed to keep more 
than a horse, I never could see. Great red thing!’ 
Just then, a big drop of rain came down, spat! 
on Mischief’s nose. She rubbed it off hastily 
with her nice little mouse-gray gloves, and looked 
about her with a frightened air. ‘ It never will do 
for me to be caught in a shower,’ she said, ‘ or my 
gloves and dress will be spotted. They’ve been in 
the family a long time and were imported from 
Malta.’ Another drop struck her face, tickling 
her so that she sneezed violently. 

“ ‘ Come ! ’ she cried, and started off at a full 
run, down the mountain-side, pulling Fred after 
her as before. ‘ Hurry, hurry,’ she screamed; 
‘faster, faster! ’ 


io8 


SILVER RAGS. 


“ Fred now saw, to his horror, that instead of 
descending the side on which they had come up, 
she was making straight toward the slope where 
the rocks were bare and red. 

“‘Stop, stop, Mischief!’ he cried breathlessly, 

‘ we shall go over the cliff! ’ 

“ Before the words were fairly out of his mouth 
they were on the crumbling edge of a precipice. 
In that instant Fred could see the road and the 
brook a thousand feet below them. 

He braced his feet against the stones and tried 
to snatch his hand away, but Mischief held it more 
tightly than ever. With one wild bound they were 
over the brink, out in the empty air, falling down, 
down — 

“Come, come, Fred, you’ll be wet through !” 

“Fred looked about him in amazement. He was 
sitting on the piazza, and there was Mischief in 
his lap. She was shaking off the rain-drops as 
they fell thickly upon her soft fur, and was 
struggling to get away from his hand, which was 
tightly clasped about one of her fore-paws. His 
other hand was held by his mother, who stood over 
him, laughing and talking at the same time. ‘ Why, 
Fred, have you been here all the afternoon? I 


A SMALL HERO. 


109 


guess the kitten has had a nice nap; and just see 
how it rains ! ’ 

Mischief/ began Fred solemnly, letting go her 
paw, ‘what have you been — ?’ but Mischief had 
already jumped and run off to the barn, to find her 
brothers and sisters/’ 


CHAPTER VII. 


OAK LEAVES AND HAY. 

H OW it did pour that afternoon! It was of 
no use to think of going into the woods 
for leaves, and the girls had just about given up 
all idea of decorating Pet’s room, when the kitchen 
window was obscured by a queer object. 

Kittie came flying out from the sitting room, 
closely followed by the rest. 

‘‘What can it be?” she cried. “O, I know! 
It’s Ruel —just see what he’s brought! ” 

Sure enough, the kindly trapper, who loved the 
young folks almost as if they were his own children, 
had tramped off quietly to the wood, gathered a 
huge armful of green oak boughs — and now stood, 
beaming out of the midst of them, like a good- 
natured Faun, fairly dripping from head to foot. 

“I thought you mout like to be workin’ while 
your uncle was tellin’ stories,” he called out. 
“Where’ll you have em ? ” 


IO 


OAK LEAVES AND HAY. 


Ill 


“O, in the barn, the barn. We’ve been cooped 
up in the house all day, and I’m just longing for a 
breath of fresh air.” 

Thus the energetic Bess. 

“ But the leaves are all wet,” objected Kittie. 
“ Won’t they hurt the hay, Uncle?” 

Mr. Percival smiled, and patted the eager brown 
head. “ I guess they won’t spoil the whole mow,” 
he said. “ But of course I can’t tell you any 
stories, because I’m going to toast my feet all the 
afternoon in the Den.” 

Kittie saw a twinkle in his eye. 

“Ah,” she said coaxingly, “you’re just teasing 
us. You’re going to come out where you can see 
to Tim and Ruel while they work, and then you’re 
going to climb up into the hay-mow and tell , while 
we make trimming — aren’t you, Uncle?” 

Aren't you, Uncle?’” repeated Mr. Percival 
in a whimsical tone. “ Why, if you’re such a very 
earnest little puss about it, I suppose — I must! ” 

It didn’t take long to prepare for the barn. 
Hooded and water-proofed, the girls ran across the 
little open space as fast as they could go, wagging 
in and out under a big umbrella, screaming and 
laughing, girl-fashion. 


112 


SILVER RAGS. 


Tom and Randolph followed in more military 
style, double-quicking in fine order from porch to 
barn. The men were already there. In one of 
the broad bays on the ground level of the barn 
was a mow of new hay ; and on the centre of this 
was deposited a huge heap of leaves, wet and 
shining, pretty material for busy fingers to trans¬ 
form into links and wreaths and festoons for Pet's 
chamber. 

Mr. Percival was soon made comfortable in a 
hay-nest especially hollowed out for him, and the 
rest seated themselves in a semi-circle before him. 
The boys were set to work at once, stripping off 
leaves. 

“There,” said Bess, beginning to turn the stout 
stems and piercing the tough green tissue of the 
leaves, “this is really —” 

“ Nice,” furnished Randolph gravely. “ That’s a 
good Boston word. Girls always say that the 
weather is nice, and ice cream is nice, and going to 
Europe is nice, and the sermon was nice, and —” 

“O hear him, hear him!” interrupted Kittie. 
“ I guess 4 nice ’ is as good a word as ‘jolly.’ Boys 
all say that.” 

“ Many a nice time, yes, and jolly too,” said 


OAK LEAVES AND HAY. I 13 

uncle Will, as he watched the swallows overhead, 
and listened with an amused smile to the children’s 
funning, “ I’ve had in this barn, in old times.” 

“ Were there many fellows about here ? ” asked 
Tom. 

“ Not many, but perhaps we appreciated one 
another all the better. The district school was 
about a half a mile from the cross-roads, and we 
boys were always ready for a good time. Once, 
though, our sport came near turning out pretty 
seriously for me.” 

“ How was that, sir ? ” The rest looked up with 
interested faces, but kept on with their work. 

“ Why, it was on a Saturday afternoon, I remem¬ 
ber, at about this time of year — no, it must have 
been later—in August, I think. 

“There were seven of us, just out of school, and 
ready for anything in the shape of fun. It had 
been a clear race from the schoolhouse — we never 
could go anywhere without a run or a leap-frog, or 
something of the sort — till we reached the shade 
of an apple-tree, laughing, panting and eating ap¬ 
ples. The ground was covered with small, juicy 
fruit, mellow on the upper side, and hard under¬ 
neath. They were pretty sour, but we didn’t care. 


SILVER RAGS. 


I 14 

“ It was only half-past four, and we had two good 
hours before supper-time all to ourselves. So we 
lay there, filling our pockets with apples after we 
had eaten enough, and began to propose plans. 

Let’s go down to the mill and see’em saw 

logs.’ 

“ ‘ Too far.’ 

“ Well, who says ‘ I spy,’ then ? ” 

“ This suggestion was well received, and I, who had 
made it, proceeded to count off, one dropping away 
every time until the last, who happened to be Bob 
Andrews — poor fellow, he was shot at Antietam ! 
— was ‘ It,’ and was posted against the tree with 
his eyes covered. 

“ ‘ Fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty — I’m 
cornin’ when I get to three hundred ! ’ he shouted, 
-as we scattered in all directions. 

“ At first I made for a low wall near the house, 
and had hardly time to gain it when Bob gave a 
flourish, and with a loud * Three hundred — 
cornin’! ’ started for his prey. 

“ Peeping through a crevice in the wall, and find¬ 
ing he was coming in my direction, I hurriedly 
glanced about for a new hiding-place. 

“ At that moment a red squirrel bounded lightly 


OAK LEAVES AND HAY. I 15 

along the tops of the stones, and disappeared in a 
crevice between two boards of the barn. 

“ Instantly I followed the hint. Creeping on my 
hands and knees, I soon reached the corner of the 
old gray building, and a moment later was in the 
centre of the mow, burrowing down out of sight, 
until I was pretty confident that it would take a 
smarter boy than Bob Andrews to find me that 
time. 

“It was remarkably comfortable in that mow. 
The hay was fresh on top, and although I had 
reached the under layer of last year’s crop, I took 
care not to disturb it much, so that the dust did 
not trouble me. I could hear the shouts of the 
boys as they were discovered, one after the other, 
and the complaining tones of Bob, who, to my great 
satisfaction, was ransacking every nook and corner 
of the place except the right one. 

“ A couple of swallows flew ip and out over my 
head, twittering softly. Perhaps they were return¬ 
ing for a last look at their old home, for it was 
almost time they were away. 

“ Whether it was the soft August air, or the dis¬ 
tant, faint shouts of the boys, or the voice of the 
swallows, I never knew; but when I roused my- 


SILVER RAGS. 


I 16 

self to climb down and have my laugh at the rest 
of the fellows, to my surprise I found it was quite 
dark. At the same time I began to experience a 
smothering sensation, and an almost unbearable 
heat. 

“ I put up my hand. It instantly came into con¬ 
tact with hay so dry that it made me sneeze. 

“ I tried to push it aside and to rise ; but, to my 
dismay, found myself held down tightly by an im¬ 
movable mass above, below, on all sides. I had at 
first supposed the hay had tumbled or been thrown 
down for fun upon me ; but all in a flash, I realized 
the truth. I had fallen asleep, and while uncon¬ 
scious, had been covered, by some of the farm¬ 
hands, who, I remembered, had been directed that 
very morning to' pitch the entire contents of 
another mow upon this, as the flooring of the first 
needed repairs. 

“ I was sixteen, then, and pretty rugged for a 
boy of my years; but I confess I felt a lump in my 
throat and a faint, dizzy terror sweep over me from 
head to foot. 

“Buried alive in a hay-mow! For a few min¬ 
utes I was quite frantic. I shrieked for help ; I 
dug furiously with hands and kicked with feet, un- 


OAK LEAVES AND HAY. I 17 

til my smarting eyes, nostrils and throat, half- 
choked with fine hay-dust, compelled me to desist 

“ Then I began to plan more deliberately. It was 
pitch-dark, remember, and so close that I could 
hardly breathe. The perspiration, too, was stream¬ 
ing from every pore. If I had known my points of 
compass, I could have made a bee-line for the near¬ 
est limit of the mow, but I had turned in sleeping, 
and struggled so violently afterward, that I was as 
completely lost as though I had been in the Maine 
wilderness. 

“ There was no time to spare. My breath came 
in a quick, heavy panting. I felt my strength 
growing plainly less. At the same time, I began 
to be hungry and thirsty. How much time had 
elapsed since I had hidden away I could not tell. 
Perhaps it was supper-time. 

“ What would I have given to have been sitting 
in the smooth-floored, old kitchen, with my bowl 
of bread and milk before me, relating my strange 
adventure to the half-sympathizing, half-laughing 
faces around the table ? 

“ I began slowly to loosen the hay upon my right 
side, which I judged was toward the centre of the 
barn. If so, my course would bring me out through 


118 


SILVER RAGS. 


the side of the mow, twenty feet above the floor. 

“ It was tedious work, for I dared not hurry lest 
I should be overcome with heat and the dust, which 
kept me coughing almost incessantly. 

“ Handful after handful I pulled out and crowded 
behind me. Every muscle ached with the cramped 
position, and the air became more and more close. 
Still, I worked on steadily, desperately. How long 
it was I cannot tell — I never knew. 

“ I was drawing away the tightly-packed masses 
of hay, a small bunch at a time, when the air sud¬ 
denly became perceptibly cooler and sweeter. I 
dug at the cruel hay wall more furiously. Some¬ 
where beneath me I heard a slight scrambling and 
rustling, which soon ceased. 

“ A moment later, my finger-ends struck the 
rough surface of boards, and, as they did so, a cold, 
delicious draught of air, like spring-water in a des¬ 
ert, blew upon my hot cheek. 

“ I felt about eagerly, still seeing nothing, and 
soon came upon a small hole or interstice, with 
roughened sides, as if gnawed by some animal, be¬ 
tween the edges of two of the boards which formed 
the partition I had met. It did not take me long, 
country boy as I was, to reason out the nature of 


.AYES AND HAY. 


I 19 

that opening. It was a squirrel’s hole, without 
doubt the very spot where my bushy-tailed guide 
had disappeared, as I watched him from behind the 
stone wall. 

“ I put my eye to the opening, and looked out. 
To my astonishment, the stars were shining 
brightly. Yes, and the moon ! By its position in 
the eastern sky — for it was past the full — I knew 
at last how long I had been in that hay-mow. It 
was between twelve and one o’clock, and for eight 
hours I had been buried, lost, in the hay. 

“ I say had been, for now I felt quite at ease. 
No more exploring for me that night! When 
morning came, I could easily call through my 
squirrel’s front-door, and the men who came out 
early to milk would pitch off the hay, and release 
me. 

“The only trouble was hunger and thirst, which, 
now that I had time to think of them, oppressed 
me more than ever. Then I remembered those 
apples. I suppose nothing will ever taste so good 
as that sour, hard apple did that night. After I 
had made a bountiful lunch, I enlarged my quar¬ 
ters a little, settled back comfortably, and waited 
for milking-time. 


20 


SILVER RA 


“ That’s all there really is to tell. In due time, 
the stars faded, one by one; the sky flushed all 
sorts of lovely roses and pinks ; the cattle began to 
stir about uneasily underneath ; a distant door 
creaked, and heavy boots slowly approached. 

“ I placed my lips to the crack, and called in a 
low tone.' You see, I didn’t want to rouse all the 
folks. I knew they wouldn’t be worried, because 
I had planned to go over to Merritt’s and stop with 
him that very night. 

“ Well, ten minutes later I stood on the barn- 
floor, brushing the hay-seed from my hair and 
clothes, and stretching my aching limbs. I found 
the witch-grass had cut my fingers a little, and that 
was about all the harm that came of it. 

“ I expected them all to laugh at the breakfast- 
table, and told my story rather sheepishly ; but 
when I got through, and looked round, the folks 
had anything but smiling faces, and two of them 
passed me the doughnuts, both at once. Mother 
cried outright. 

“ If he hadn’t taken the right direction,’ she said, 
‘or had kept going in a circle ’ — 

“Then she stopped ; and so will I.” 

“Ah,” said Kittie, drawing a long breath, “that 


OAK LEAVES AND HAY. 


12 


was a narrow escape. It makes me feel stifled 
just to think of it.” 

“ Was it this very barn, Uncle ? ” 

“Yes, Tom ; and that further mow on the other 
side, where Kittie found the man last winter, and 
had such a fright.” 

The trimming was nearly completed, but it still 
needed to be brought into better shape, and a 
special yard or two of smaller leaves made for the 
looking-glass, Bess said. “ And can’t you tell us 
one more hay-mow story, uncle Will.” 

“ Let me speak to Tim a minute,” said Mr. Per- 
cival. “ After I’ve given him some directions, I’ll 
see if I can remember one. 

“ It was a warm day in the early part of April,” 
he began, as soon as he returned. “ The air was 
mild, the sky was blue, with sunlight, and the gen¬ 
tle spring breezes were full of all sorts of nice 
smells of fresh earth and green, growing turf. 
The turf was in the moist places on the sunny 
side of the old wall; above it, in their willow- 
baskets, pussies were beginning to stretch out 
their little gray paws sleepily, as they awoke one 
by one from their long nap. 

“ As Zip spattered along the muddy road-side on 


122 


SILVER RAGS. 


his way home from Sunday-school, he thought the 
world a pretty nice place to live in, on the whole. 

‘ Zip/ by the way, was short for ‘ Zephaniah/ 
which was his long name. Folks only called him 
that when they were full of fun or very cross; 
indeed, you could generally tell which by their 
tone. 

“ A robin in the overhanging boughs of an apple- 
tree whistled cheerily as Zip drew near. Instantly 
the boy seized a stone, and threw it at the red 
feathers. The bird uttered a shrill cry of alarm, 
but flew away unharmed, and presently was heard 
again far away in the orchard. Zip was rather 
glad of this, after all. He wasn’t a cruel boy, but 
whenever he saw a bird or a squirrel, something 
in him, he couldn’t tell what, made him throw 
stones at it. 

“Now Zip, as I said, had just been to Sunday- 
school, and had been thinking almost all the way 
home of the lesson. It was the story of the very 
first Christian people, who started so bravely to be 
good and true, and who tried to do just as Christ 
of Nazareth had taught them and their fathers a 
few years before. 

“ * What a beautiful world it would be,’ the 


OAK LEAVES AND HAY. 


123 


teacher had said, at the close of school, ‘if every¬ 
body tried to do so now ! * 

“ Zip was only twelve years old, and didn’t know 
much about the world any way, but he had 
seen some acts that were quite unlike those of the 
apostles so long ago. His father and mother were 
plain country people, working hard from morning 
till night, and giving no anxious thought to the 
morrow, but a great deal to to-day, which was 
pretty much the same thing, only they were one 
day behind, and somehow could never catch up. 
The hard-featured man at the counter of his country 
store, and the tired-looking woman in the kitchen, 
each spent their lives, it seemed to Zip, in getting 
dinner or clearing it away. So it happened that 
the boy was glad enough of his Sunday afternoon, 
when, after returning from school, he had three 
hours to himself before supper. 

“ As he neared home he saw the small cattle- 
door of the barn left invitingly open. He turned 
aside, picking his way among the brown pools and 
streamlets that dimpled and twinkled in the sun¬ 
light, and entered the great fragrant cave, lighted 
only by cracks between the uneven boards, and a 
knot-hole here and there far above his head. The 


124 


SILVER RAGS. 


oxen raised their broad foreheads, knocking their 
horns against the stanchions. Zip gave them each 
a little pat between their meek brown eyes, and 
scrambled up the ladder into the hay-mow. 

It was a delicious place for a quiet Sunday after¬ 
noon. He waded over to the very centre of the 
mow, dug a little hollow with his hands, and cud¬ 
dled down into it. Over his head were the dark 
beams with their dusty webs and last year’s swal¬ 
low’s nests; beneath him he could hear the cattle 
munching away at their hay and grain, and now 
and then putting down a heavy foot on the floor of 
their stalls. A dozen hens were stalking about, 
picking wisely at various bits of grass-seed, and 
clucking in soft tones. All around was the sweet 
scent of the hay. 

“ As Zip lay in his snug nest he thought drowsily 
of what the teacher had said about everybody 
being good. How comfortable and happy it would 
be! The more he thought about it the pleasanter 
it seemed. Just then there came a long, low note 
from one of the hens on the wide floor below. The 
sound had so many quirks and turns in it, that Zip 
half thought for a moment that it was some one 
speaking to him, and started up to answer. Then 


OAK LEAVES AND HAY. 


25 


he remembered it was only a hen, and leaned back 
with a smile. 

Presently he heard the same hen clucking, or 
cackling, again, and so slowly and clearly did the 
notes come that he could have stated to a positive 
certainty that something had been said down there 
on the barn floor, and that, too, about himself. He 
crept to the edge of the mow and looked over. 
There were the hens just as he had often seen 
them, only looking wiser than ever. Even while he 
looked the brown pullet gave a vigorous scratch or 
two, pecked at the dusty boards once or twice, 
shook her feathers, and said distinctly, 

“ ‘ If they only knew ! ’ 

“Zip stared. Then a deep, soft voice, hardly 
more than a long, long sigh, came from directly be¬ 
neath him, ‘ They would soon learn to be as quiet as 
we are.’ 

“ It was Star, the off-ox; there couldn’t be a 
doubt of it. 

“ * I don’t know,’ answered the brown pullet, 
winking upside down after her custom, “ you great 
things are almost too quiet. One has to be lively to 
get one’s supper, you know.’ 

“ As she spoke she made a quick run after a tiny 


2 6 


SILVER RAGS. 


insect which had been called out of its cranny by 
the warm sun, caught it on the wing, and went on 
with what she had been saying. 

“ ‘ In the first place, Star,’ she said, more gravely, 
‘ no one would be angry without good reason, and 
then they wouldn’t beat animals for nothing, would 
they, Billy ? ’ 

“ The horse who was thus addressed seemed to 
shake his mane, and said something which Zip 
took to be a very prolonged ‘ nay,’ but he wasn’t 
quite sure he answered at all. 

“ ‘ Nobody would be selfish, and everybody 
would be kind,’ continued Brown Pullet, ‘ and try¬ 
ing to please others instead of themselves. They 
wouldn’t hurt the feelings of anybody nor any 
thing. There’s Zip, now, he wouldn’t throw stones 
at a robin ; he would think how the poor little 
bird-heart was beating faster and faster, and the 
soft red feathers throbbing on her breast, as the 
ugly stone came whizzing through the air to take 
her life ! * 

“ Zip did think, and was sorry he threw the stone. 
It was a comfort that he didn’t hit the bird, how¬ 
ever, and he made up his mind to throw out some 
crumbs on the well-curb that very night. 


OAK LEAVES AND HAY. 


127 


“ ‘ I declare/ said Brown Pullet, with her feath¬ 
ers just a bit ruffled, ‘when I think of how pleas¬ 
ant and kind and polite and gentle folks might be, 
and how they do say sharp, hurtful things (which 
I’ve heard people say do bruise one more even than 
rocks), it makes me really — there ! ’ she inter¬ 
rupted herself, ‘ I declare, I’m getting angry my¬ 
self, which don’t help matters much. The best 
way for me to bring on the good times is to begin 
myself. Speckle, Speckle,’ she called to one of 
her companions, ‘ here’s the plumpest barleycorn 
I’ve found to-day. I sha’n’t have any peace till I 
see you eat it, to make up for my being cross to 
you this morning when you tipped the water over 
on my toes. It was cold, to be sure, but ’twas all 
an accident, and I oughtn’t to have pecked you for 
it. Dear, dear, how late it’s getting ! It’s quite 
dark, da-a-rk, da-r-r-rk ! ’ 

“ Zip gave a little jump, he hardly knew why, 
and looked about him. The hens were still walk¬ 
ing about the floor below, for he heard them as 
plainly as before, only he couldn’t seem to make 
out what they said, and somehow, too, he was back 
in his soft hay-nest again. He rubbed his eyes, 
and stretched his sturdy little arms, found his way 


128 


SILVER RAGS. 


down the ladder, and looked hard at the brown pul¬ 
let. But she merely clucked in her old way, and, 
turning her head on one side, looked up at him 
curiously out of her wise, round eyes. 

“ Zip then went over to see the two oxen, but 
they only lifted their heads and watched him in 
silence for a moment, then gave two great, soft, 
sweet-breathed sighs, and went on eating their 
hay . 0 

The oak-leaf decorations were now quite finished. 
The remainder of the day, until dark, was spent 
in festooning them about Pet’s room, over the door¬ 
ways, and even in the chamber to be occupied by 
poor little Bridget Flanagan, the unrecognized 
heroine of the Summer Street fire. 

Ruel, coming in to supper, reported bright 
streaks in the west, and predicted fair cool weather 
on the morrow. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


POOR tom! 

T HAT Ruel was a good weather-prophet, there 
could be no doubt. Long before blue eyes 
and brown were opened at The Pines, the sun was 
shining over hill and valley, and birds singing in 
every thicket, to welcome the bright day. 

Plans were eagerly discussed at breakfast, and 
by eight o’clock the great wagon was before the 
jdoor, ready for a start. Tom alone hung back and 
refused to go, saying he wanted to walk over to the 
Pond; so they drove off without him, toward the 
Pineville Station. 

The horses, who had just enjoyed a rainy day’s 
rest in their stalls, stepped off merrily. How 
sweet the air was ! The girls and Randolph drew 
in long breaths, and shouted and sang till they were 
tired. Mr. Percival listened, and watched them 
with kindly eyes, now and then engaging in the 
conversation himself. 


129 


30 


SILVER RAGS. 


“ Aren’t there any boys and girls around here 
except ourselves ? ” asked Randolph as they 
whirled along over the road, here carpeted with 
pine needles. 

“ O there are plenty in Readville and James¬ 
town,” replied his uncle, touching the glossy flank 
of the off horse with his whip. “There’s a good- 
sized school in each town, and they draw the young 
folks together, from all parts.” 

“ What do they do for fun, I wonder ? ” 

“Well, just now they’re full of base balk The 
boys do the hard work, out in the sun, and the 
girls make caps and badges for them and watch 
them play. There’s a club in each town, I’m told.” 

“ How nice ! ” exclaimed Bess. “ I do so like to 
see real exciting games ! ” 

“ Don’t you believe we could drive over some 
time, Uncle ? ” asked Kittie. 

“ Yes indeed, yes indeed; take you over to-mor¬ 
row if you like — or send you with Ruel.” 

“ They’d be glad enough to git the boys to play 
with ’em,” remarked Ruel, chiming in as his name 
was spoken. 1 ‘ They always think city boys must 
know how, because they’ve seen the big clubs.” 

It might as well be added right here that the 




















POOR TOM ! 


131 

boys did go over to Readville, though not on the 
following day; and the village club were so well 
pleased with their playing, that they invited the 
new-comers to join their nine, during vacation, and 
to take part in any matches that might occur. 
Randolph, indeed, so gained in favor by his pleas¬ 
ant ways and cool head that he was regularly 
elected Captain. Tom did well, too, being a more 
graceful player than his cousin, but not so reliable 
in an emergency. All this I have mentioned, to 
explain how the great Match Game came about, of 
which we shall hear before long. 

Meanwhile the ride to the railroad progressed 
pleasantly. An excursion to Bessie’s mountain 
(where she had lighted the birch-tree torch during 
the thunder-storm) was planned in all its details. 

“ Pet will soon be rested,” said Kittie in gleeful 
tones, “ and then we’ll have our picnic. Ruel, you 
must take plenty of matches, and your axe.” 

“ What’s the axe fer ? ” 

“ O tables, and a tent, perhaps.” 

“ And birch bark,” added the guide. 

“ Birch bark ? I thought you cut that off with 
penknives. O, can we get a lot, to carry home ? ” 
“ Don’t see why not, ef you c’n stan’ the work.” 


132 


SILVER RAGS. 


“ Has Pet another watch ? ” asked Randolph 
suddenly. “ She said something about it in her 
last letter to you, Bess, didn’t she ? ” 

“ No. Her father thinks it was careless of her 
to lose it, now that it’s certain it didn’t go into the 
pond when she fell overboard.” 

“ I should like to know what’s the matter with 
Tom,” broke in Kittie. “ He’s acted queer, ever 
since that day.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Percival soberly. “ I’m troubled 
about the boy. He isn’t his old merry self at all.” 

“ What did he say about the Indians that after¬ 
noon, Uncle ? ” 

“ Said he believed they took the watch and hid 
it; and that he hadn’t seen it himself, and knew 
nothing about it.” 

“ Was that at the trial ? ” 

“Just before. He wasn’t in the house when we 
examined the Indians.” 

“Well, he thinks everything of Pet,” said Ran¬ 
dolph. “ I guess he feels bad about her losing it, 
and that’s what ails him. “ Hulloa, see that crow 
on the fence just ahead there ! ” 

“ He’s gone, he’s gone! O what are those little 
birds fluttering round him ? ” 


POOR tom! 


133 


“ Them’s king-birds,” said Ruel. “ They can’t 
put up with crows, nohaow.” 

“ What, are they fighting him now ? ” 

“ Teeth an’ claws. Look at him dive, to git out 
o’ their way ! ” 

“ Do crows do any good, Ruel ? ” 

“ Wal, I d’no. I s’pose, when you come right 
daown to it, the creeturs ought ter be killed off. 
They do suck small bird’s eggs, an’ they’re a pow¬ 
erful nuisance in a cornfield. But thar, I do hate 
to shoot anything with wings on ’em, in these big 
woods.” 

“ Why, Ruel ? ” inquired the boy curiously. 

“ Wal, fer one reason, they’re good company, 
even those black rascals. Many’s the time I’ve 
been off alone in the woods, in the winter, when I 
couldn’t see nor hear a livin’ thing fer a week to¬ 
gether. An’ some mornin’ I’d hear a queer croak¬ 
in’ noise near my cabin, an’ thar’d be a crow — 
head on one side, a-talkin’ to a neighbor over ’n a 
pine. Their talkin’ ain’t anything like their reg’lar 
cawin’.” 

“ What does it sound like ? ” 

“ O, I d’no. Like a hoarse old man, talkin’ to 
himself, p’raps. Anyway, it sounds sort o' human, 


134 


SILVER RAGS. 


and I couldn’t knock ’em over, to save me.” 

By this time the girls had found something else 
to interest them by the roadside, in the treetops, or 
the sky overhead ; and so the ride went on, happily, 
toward Pineville. 

But it is time to look back a little, and see what 
Tom is about, left alone at The Pines. 

As soon as the rest were gone, Tom glanced 
carelessly over his shoulder, and sauntered off to¬ 
ward the woods. At a distance of about a thou¬ 
sand feet from the house, he paused and looked cu¬ 
riously about him. He had entered a clump of oaks 
and birches, just on the edge of the pine forest; 
before him lay a little valley, into which he de¬ 
scended, and leaving the path, followed the course 
of what was evidently in the spring season a small 
stream, now entirely dry. Stepping cautiously, to 
avoid treading upon dry twigs, he kept on down 
the ravine until he' reached a large bowlder, form¬ 
ing the outworks of a picturesquely broken cliff 
whose fern-draped front towered some forty feet or 
more above his head. 

An aged beech tree, rooted about half-way up the 
juncture of the boulder and the cliff, had bent down- 


POOR TOM ! 


135 


ward in the course of years, until its lowermost 
branches almost touched the ground. Seizing the 
nearest of these, and aiding himself by slight pro¬ 
jections and crannies in the ledge itself, Tom drew 
himself up to the thick end of the tree, upon the 
curving trunk of which he seated himself, breath¬ 
less. He was now in a sort of cavity, formed by 
the fall of the bowlder in ages past, which had given 
shelter to the young beech and collected soil for its 
nourishment. Ferns grew thickly above, below, 
on every side, along the shelving surfaces, which, 
projecting over Tom’s head, made a snug nook 
some five or six feet deep. This hiding-place the 
boy flattered himself was entirely his own discov¬ 
ery, and thither he was accustomed to betake him¬ 
self on long summer afternoons; then, stretching 
out comfortably at full length in the green shade, he 
would fancy himself in a wild country, flying from 
Indians ; or would pull a book from his pocket, and 
lose himself in tales of peril and adventure. 

On this occasion, however, he had no book, and 
gave himself up to no day dreams. Instead, he 
seemed worried and frightened, and peering down¬ 
ward through the leaves, listened for any footstep 
that might be approaching. 


I36 SILVER RAGS. 

No, he was quite alone. Only a thrush, singing 
musically, near by ; and from beyond, the solemn, 
never-ceasing murmur of the pines. 

With slow and careful movements, taking care 
not to disturb the loose rocks or soil in the cavity, 
the boy turned and thrust his arm into a narrow 
cleft that had been concealed by a clump of ferns. 

When he drew back his hand, something bright 
gleamed in it. It was round, and shone gayly in an 
innocent bit of sunlight that came flickering down 
through the tree-tops. It was talking to itself, 
too, in a very busy and wise little way, as Tom sat¬ 
isfied himself at once, holding it to his ear and lis¬ 
tening anxiously. 

What would Pet have thought, as she whirled 
along in the North-bound express from Boston that 
fair morning, could she have seen Tom crouching 
on the shadowy ledge, trembling at every sound in 
the forest, pale and frightened, clasping in his hand 
— her lost watch ? Poor Tom ! 


CHAPTER IX. 


A MOUNTAIN CAMP. 

I SHOULD like to know,” said Pet breathlessly, 
as she clambered up the steep slope of Saddle¬ 
back, a day or two after her return to The Pines, 
“ whether there really is any top to this hill! 
Where was the birch you set on fire, Bess ? ” 

The party paused a minute beside the path, to 
rest and get breath. 

“ O, ever so far from here, away over on the 
Readville side of the mountain.” 

“ It spiles the looks of the tree,” observed Ruel, 
leaning on his axe, “ or I’d start one for ye naow. 
Leaves ’em all black, an’ sometimes kills ’em, right 
aout — not to say anything ’bout settin’ the rest o’ 
the woods on fire.” 

“ What sort of a birch is that, over by that rock, 
uncle Will ? ” asked Randolph. 

“That? That’s a black birch. Nice tasting 
bark. When we get to the top and have lunch, 
i37 


138 


SILVER RAGS. 


we’ll talk about birches a little, if you like. Let 
me see, whose favorite tree was it last year? 
Tom’s? ” 

“Bessie’s, of course. Tom’s was the oak, be¬ 
cause it wore squirrels and oak-leaf trimming! ” 

“ Anyway,” said Tom, who, though a shade 
paler than in the old days, seemed to have par¬ 
tially recovered his spirits, “oak trees are stronger 
and tougher than pines or birches either; and I 
notice that uncle Will has a white oak cane, this 
very minute !” 

“Time’s up!” interrupted Ruel, who always 
assumed the place of guide, not to say leader, in 
such tramps as these. “ It’s eleven o’clock naow, 
and we’ve got a good piece to go yet, ’fore we’re 
onto the top of old Saddleback.” 

The woods were very still, the air cool and fra¬ 
grant, the moss deep and soft under their feet, as 
they passed onward and upward. 

Climbing, climbing, 

Climbing up Zion’s hill 1 

sang the girls, over and over, till the rest caught 
the air and joined in heartily, keeping step with 
the music. Now they turned an abrupt corner, 
and from the summit of a high ledge could look 


A MOUNTAIN CAMP. 


139 


far off over the valley, with its piney woods and 
peaceful columns of smoke rising here and there. 
Loon Pond glistened gayly in the full radiance of 
the noon sun ; now they attacked a rough natural 
stairway of bowlders and fallen trees, the boys 
clambering up first, baskets on arm, and then 
reaching down to give the others a helping hand. 
Pet, who was not used to - such rough travelling, 
had to stop and rest every few feet; but no face 
was sunnier or laugh merrier than hers. Tom 
kept as near her side as possible, and gave her 
many a helpful lift with his strong arm, over the 
worst places. At one time she suddenly remem¬ 
bered that she had left her handkerchief at the 
last halting-place; her cavalier was off before she 
could stop him, racing down the steep path and 
returning with the missing article in an incredibly 
short time. 

Still upward. The bowlders were prettily draped 
with ferns, which had sunbeams given them to 
play with. In the underbrush close by, a flock of 
partridges walked demurely and fearlessly along 
beside the party, clucking in soft tones their sur¬ 
prise and curiosity. Tiny brooks crossed the path 
and ran off laughing down the hill. Now there 


140 


SILVER RAGS. 


arose a rushing sound, louder and more steadily 
continuous than the wind-dreams in the tree-tops. 

It was a cataract, falling some eight feet into a 
black pool, covered with little floating rafts of 
foam. And now they could see sky between the 
trunks of trees ahead. 

“ Hurrah ! ” shouted Tom. “There’s the top! ” 
But the top was a good walk from there, and 
when at last they emerged upon the little rocky 
plateau forming the summit, they were both tired 
and hungry. 

“Rest for thirty minutes,” proclaimed Mr. Per- 
cival. “Then we’ll take the back track.” 

“ The back track ! Oh-h-h ! ” 

“ How about dinner, uncle ? ” 

“ I’m just starving , sir ! ” 

“ What time is it ? Who’s got a watch ? ” 

Tom turned fiery red at this last question, and 
a sober look crossed Pet’s face ; but a moment 
later she was merry again. 

“ Please , uncle Will,” she pleaded, “ mayn’t we 
have lunch before we go down ? ” 

“ Please , Miss Pet, turn one of those brooks 
upside-down, and bring up a few nice large birch 
trees — and this will be quite a comfortable spot 


A MOUNTAIN CAMP. 


I 4 I 

for dinner! No, dear, we’ll look all we want to 
at this beautiful view, and then we’ll walk down a 
bit — only a few steps, and not just the way we 
came — to a spot Ruel knows of, where shade, fuel 
and fresh water are all at hand.” 

The view was indeed lovely : lakes shining here 
and there in the woods ; far-away villages, with 
tiny white church spires; mossy green acres — 
thousands on thousands — of forest; the dim blue 
of Katahdin, to the northeast; overhead, the ten- 
derest and bluest of midsummer skies. 

“ How beautiful that mountain looks ! ” said Pet 
slowly, from the turfy couch where she had thrown 
herself down. “ I wonder if there are strange 
Indian stories and legends about it ? ” 

“ A good many, I expect,” replied Mr. Percival, 
baring his forehead to the cool breeze. “The 
Indians have always had a great respect for moun¬ 
tains, especially where there was some peculiar 
formation or feature which impressed their imagi¬ 
nation— the ‘Profile,’ for instance, in the White 
Mountains.” 

“ I have heard the same about the Mount of the 
Holy Cross in Colorado,” added Randolph. “ That 
was one of the — ” he paused and flushed a little, 
as if uncertain whether to go on. 


142 


SILVER RAGS. 


“ Yes, yes,” laughed uncle Will, guessing from 
his manner what he was about to say. “ It’s that 
famous brother of yours again. You ought to 
bring him up here sometime, to recite his own 
verses. However, you do it very well, for him.” 

“What has he written about that mountain, 
Randolph?” asked Kittie in a respectful tone that 
made the rest laugh. 

“ O, only three or four verses,” said Randolph. 
“You know the Cross is formed by two immense 
ravines near the summit of the mountain, where 
the ice and snow lie all the year round. These 
are the verses. 

THE MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS. 

Down the rocky slopes and passes 
Of the everlasting hills 

Murmur low the crystal waters 
Of a thousand tiny rills; 

Bearing from a lofty glacier 
To the valley far below 

Health and strength to every creature, — 

’T is for them “ He giveth snow.” 

On thy streamlet’s brink the wild deer 
Prints with timid foot the moss; 

To thy side the sparrow nestles, — 

Mountain of the Holy Cross ! 



THE MOUNT OF THE HOLY CROSS- 








































































































A MOUNTAIN CAMP. 


143 


Pure and white amid the heavens 
God hath set His glorious sign: 

Symbol of a world’s deliverance, 

Promise of a life divine. 

A little pause followed the poem, which Ran¬ 
dolph had repeated in low, quiet tones. At length 
it was time to go, and with Ruel for guide once 
more, they threaded their way over fallen trees, 
around stumps and treacherous ledges, down the 
mountain side until, at a distance of perhaps a 
furlong from the summit, the guide threw down 
his axe. 

“ I guess this’ll dew,” said he. 

“ This ” was a small cleared spot, some fifty feet 
across, along the further side of which ran the 
brook, forming half-a-dozen mimic cataracts. The 
woods on all sides were composed of evergreens, 
interspersed with clumps of white birch showing 
prettily here and there among the darker shadows. 

“ Now,” said Mr. Percival briskly, “you and the 
girls can start a fire and set the table, Randolph, 
while Tom helps Ruel and me to build a camp.” 

“O, a camp ! Where shall we make the fire ? ” 

“ Over against that rock, on the lee side of the 
clearing, so the smoke sha’n’t bother us.” 


144 


SILVER RAGS. 


All hands were soon at work vigorously. Ruel 
cut two strong, crotched uprights, and a cross-pole, 
which Tom carried to their position near the 
brook, as directed by his uncle. A frame-work 
was soon erected, and long, slender poles stretched 
from the cross-piece back to the ground. Next, 
Ruel took his sharp axe, and calling for the rest 
to follow, plunged into the woods. In two min¬ 
utes they came to a halt in the midst of a group 
of fine birches, whose boles shone like veritable 
silver. 

The guide raised his axe, and laying the keen 
edge against the bark of the nearest, as high as 
he could reach, drew it steadily downward. The 
satiny bark parted on either side at the touch, 
asking for fingers to pull it off. Ruel served a 
dozen other trees in the same way, and then all 
set to work, separating bark from trunk. Tom 
found that his was apt to split at every knot, but 
by watching his uncle he soon learned to work 
more carefully, often using his whole arm to pry 
off the bark instead of merely taking hold with 
his fingers. 

In this way they soon had a lot of splendid 
sheets, averaging about four feet wide by five or 


A MOUNTAIN CAMP. 


145 


six long, These they rolled into three bundles, 
each taking one, and bore them back in triumph 
to the camp. They found the table set, fire crack¬ 
ling, and company waiting with sharpened appe¬ 
tites. Ruel declared, however, that he must “git 
the bark onto the camp afore he eat a crumb;” 
and the rest helping with a will, the task was soon 
accomplished. If Ruel had taken a quiet look at 
the sky, and had his own reasons for finishing the 
hut—he kept his forebodings to himself, and 
worked on in silence. The sheets of bark were 
laid upon the rafters, lapping over each other like 
shingles, while other poles were placed on top, to 
keep the bark in place. By the aid of stout cord, 
side sheets were lashed on roughly, but well 
enough for a temporary shelter on a summer day; 
and the camp was complete. 

“ What shall we name it ? ” asked Kittie. 

“ ‘ Camp Ruel’! ” cried Pet, clapping her hands. 
“ Three cheers for Camp Ruel! ” And they were 
given lustily, with many additional “tigers” and 
cat-calls by the boys. 

After the more serious part of lunch was dis¬ 
posed of, the party were comfortably seated in 
front of the camp, on rocks and mossy trunks. 


146 


SILVER RAGS. 


Close at hand ran the brook, talking and laughing 
busily to itself. 

“I wish, Uncle,” said Bess, taking her favorite 
position by his side, “you’d tell us a story about 
this brook. If you don’t know any, you can make 
it up.” 

“ I suppose,” said Mr. Percival reflectively, “ I 
could tell you about Midget. Only Midget was 
such a little fellow, and you boys and girls are so 
exceedingly mature nowadays ! ” 

“ O, do! ” 

“ Well, Midget, you see, is an odd little fellow. 
He has long, light hair, which the other boys on 
the street would make fun of if they were not so 
fond of him ; a rather pale face, though it is 
browner now, after half a summer in the country; 
and big blue eyes, that seem like bits of sky that 
baby Midget caught on his way down from heaven, 
ten years ago, and never lost. 

“ Last September, Midget was at Crawford’s, in 
the White Mountains : and one bright morning he 
took a walk, all alone, in a path that runs beside a 
little brook leaping down the mountain-side near 
the hotel. Now there is this curious thing about 
Midget—and that’s why I began by calling him 


A MOUNTAIN CAMP. 


147 


odd—namely, that when he is alone, all sorts 
of things about him begin to talk; at least, he says 
they do, with a funny twinkle and a sweet look in 
his blue eyes, which make me half believe that the 
talk he hears comes from heaven too. At any 
rate, Midget had a wonderful report to make of 
his walk that morning ; and, as nearly as I can 
remember, this was his account: 

“He said he had not gone far into the forest 
when he was startled, for a moment, by hearing a 
group of children, somewhere in the woods, all 
laughing and talking together, and having the 
merriest time possible. Through the tumult of 
their happy cries he could distinguish a woman’s 
voice, so deep and musical and tender that it filled 
him with delight. He hurried up the path, turned 
the corner where he expected to find them, and 
behold ! it was the brook itself talking and laughing. 

“ Every separate tiny waterfall had its own 
special voice, as different from the rest as could 
be, but all chiming together musically and joining 
with the grander undertone of what most people 
suppose to be merely a larger cataract, but which 
Midget plainly perceived was a tall, lovely lady, 
with flowing, fluttering robes of white. 


148 


SILVER RAGS. 


•‘And now she was singing to him. How he 
listened ! Her song, he says, was something like 
this : 

Down from the mosses that grow in the clouds 
My children come dancing and laughing in crowds; 

They dance to the valleys and meadows below, 

And make the grass greener wherever they go. 

“ ‘But they have to go always just in one place,’ 
said Midget, addressing the waterfall Lady. 

“ ‘That’s true,’ said the Lady. 

“ ‘ It can’t be much fun,’ said Midget. 

“ ‘ Oh, yes ! ’ said the Lady, merrily, letting a 
cool scarf of spray drift over the boy’s puzzled 
face. 

“ * But I like to go wherever I like,’ said Midget. 

“‘So do my children. They like to go wher¬ 
ever they’re sent. They know they’re doing right, 
so long as they do that, and doing right makes 
them like it.’ 

*“ H’m,’ said Midget. 

“‘Besides,’ added the Lady, ‘once in a while, in 
the spring, they’re allowed to take a run off into 
the woods a bit, just for fun.’ 

“ ‘ I should like that,’ said Midget decisively. 
‘ But who — who sends them, ma’am ? ’ 


A MOUNTAIN CAMP. 


149 


“‘Ah!’ said the Lady, softly, ‘that’s the best 
part of all. It is our Father, who loves us, and 
often walks beside his brooks and through the 
meadows.’ 

“ As she spoke, the end of the white scarf 
floated out into the sunshine, and instantly glis¬ 
tened with fair colors. And at the same moment 
the Lady began to sing: 

Down from the mountain-top 
Flows the clear rill, 

Dance, little Never-stop, 

Doing His will; 

Through the dark shadow-land, 

Down from the hill, 

To the bright meadow-land, 

Doing His will, 

Loving and serving and praising Him still. 

“Just then a low rumble was heard, far off on 
the slopes of Mt. Washington, across the valley. 

“ ‘ There! ’ exclaimed Midget, ‘ I must be going. 
Good-by, dear Lady-fall ! ’ 

“‘Good-by, good-by!’ sang the brook, as Mid¬ 
get hurried away down the path toward the hotel. 

‘'He arrived just in time to escape a wetting. 
How it did rain ! The lightning glittered and the 
thunder rolled until the people huddled about the 


50 


SILVER RAGS. 


big fire in the parlor were fairly scared into 
silence. 

“ But Midget, with wide-open eyes, was not a 
bit frightened, and kept right on telling me this 
story.” 

“Ah,” said Pet, “that’s lovely. But I suspect 
it was a dear old gentleman, and not a small boy, 
who heard the waterfall lady sing.” 

“She is there, anyway,” said uncle Will, “and I 
can show her to you at Crawford’s, within two 
minutes’ walk of the hotel, the very next time we 
go there.” 

Pet looked puzzled, but said nothing. 

“ Uncle,” said Kittie, throwing a few strips of 
bark on the fire, “you said something about having 
a talk on birches.” 

“Well, dear — it must be a short one — how 
many kinds of birches do you suppose there are 
in our woods ? ” 

“ O, two — no, let me see — three. White, and 
Black — ” 

“And Yellow,” put in Tom with an air of wis¬ 
dom. 

“And Red and Canoe,” added Mr. Percival, with 
a smile. 


A MOUNTAIN CAMP. 


151 


“ So many ! What are they good for ? ” 

“ Canoes, tents and — nurses.” 

“ Nurses! ” 

“ The growth of birches is so rapid that they 
are excellent for planting beside other trees which 
are less hardy, so that the birches, or “ nurses,” as 
the gardeners call them, may shelter the babies 
from extreme heat or cold.” 

“ How funny! I knew, of course, that a garden 
of young trees was called a nursery ! ” 

“ Then the real Canoe Birch, which isn’t com¬ 
mon hereabouts, was formerly much used by the 
Indians for canoes and wigwams.” 

“ How did they make the pieces stay ? ” 

“ Sewed them.” 

“ Thread ? ” 

“ The slender roots of spruces. See! ” And 
pulling up a tiny spruce that grew by the rock on 
which he sat, he showed them the delicate, tough 
rootlets. “Then,” he added, “of course the bark 
is very useful for kindling, in the woods. The 
White Birch is almost always found with or near 
the White Pine.” 

“ I like to think of their being ‘princes,’ in ‘sil¬ 
ver rags’,” said Pet. “ I should think there ought 


152 


SILVER RAGS. 


to be a legend about that, among the Indians.” 

Something in their uncle’s expression made 
them all shout at once, “There is! There is! O, 
please tell it! ” 

“Well, well,” laughed Mr. Percival, “fortunately 
for all of us, it isn’t very long. Tom, keep the 
fire going, while you listen. The rest of you may 
interrupt and ask questions, whenever you wish. 

“A great, great many years ago, centuries before 
Columbus dreamed of America, the Indians say 
the country was ruled by a king whose like was 
never known before nor since. In an encampment 
high up on the slopes of the Rocky Mountains he 
lived, and held his royal court. No one knew his 
age, but though his beard fell in white waves over 
his aged breast, his eye was as bright as an eagle’s 
and his voice strong and wise in every council of 
the chiefs.” 

“ What was his name ? ” asked Randolph. 

“ He was called Manitou the Mighty. In his 
reign the Indian people grew prosperous and happy. 
So deeply did they love and revere him that it was 
quite as common to speak of him as ‘father,’ as to 
address him as ‘king.’ 

“‘Yes,’ said the monarch, when he heard of 


A MOUNTAIN CAMP. 


153 


this, ‘yes, truly they are my children. They are 
all princes, are they not ? — my forest children ! ’ 

“ So the years sped by. The king showed his 
age not a whit, save by his snowy locks ; and peace 
ruled throughout the land. 

“ At last Manitou the Mighty called his chiefs, 
his ‘ children,’ together in council. 

‘“I am going away,’ he said, to far-off countries, 
perhaps never to return. But I shall know of my 
subjects, and shall leave them a book of laws and 
directions, and they shall still be my children, and 
I shall be their father and king.’ 

“Then the chiefs hid their faces and went out 
to the people with the sorrowful tidings. And 
when the next morn broke, the Manitou had van¬ 
ished. 

“ A week passed; and now began jealousies, 
hatred, avarice, tumults.” 

“ Why didn’t they obey the laws in that book?” 
asked Kittie. 

“ Well, in the first place, some professed to 
believe that the chiefs made up the story about 
the book altogether, and had written the laws 
themselves ; though a child might have known 
that no other than Manitou could possibly have 


54 


SILVER RAGS. 


thought and written out such glorious and gentle 
words as the law book contained. Others pre¬ 
tended to live by the book, but so twisted the 
meaning of its words that the result was worse 
than if they had openly transgressed the law. 

“ So matters went on, from bad to worse. 
Messages arrived now and then from the king, 
with pleading and warning words, but in vain. 

“ There came a day, in the dead of winter, when 
the chiefs met in stormy conclave. Each one 
would be king. ‘ Manitou,’ cried one and another, 

* called me his child, said I was a prince! Who 
•shall rule over me ! * 

“ The sound of a far-off avalanche, high up 
among the ice-fields of the mountains, interrupted 
the assembly. Clouds gathered, black and omin¬ 
ous. Rain-drops fell, hissing, upon the pine-tops 
and the wigwams of Manitou’s wayward children. 
A hurricane arose, and swept away into the roar¬ 
ing flood of the rapidly rising river all the wealth 
they had been so eager to gain. The rumbling of 
avalanche upon avalanche grew more terrible, 
nearer, nearer. The people turned to fly, with 
one accord, but it was too late. Behold, the Mani¬ 
tou stood in their midst, his long white beard 


A MOUNTAIN CAMP. 


155 


tossed in the storm, his terrible eyes flashing not 
with rage, but with grieved love. 

“‘Children, children!’ he cried, in a voice that, 
with its sad and awful sweetness, broke their very 
hearts for shame and remorse, ‘ Is it thus that the 
princes of our race obey their father and fit them¬ 
selves to rule with him in the land beyond the 
great waters! ’ 

“ Then the people bowed their heads and moaned 
and threw up their arms wildly, and swayed to and 
fro in the storm, and wailed, until—until — ” 

The girls leaned forward breathlessly. Tom 
forgot to heap bark upon the fire. Ruel had 
slipped away to the summit, some minutes before. 

“ Until there was no longer a prince to be seen, 
but only a vast assembly of writhing, tossing, 
quivering forest trees, the rain dropping from their 
trembling leaves, their branches swaying helplessly 
in the wind which moaned sadly through the forest. 
Only one trace remained of their former greatness. 
Their bark, unlike that of every other tree, was 
silvery white, and hung in tatters about them — 
as you have seen them to-day, along this mountain 
side. For since that hour the beggared princes 
have wandered far and wide, still wearing their 


156 


SILVER RAGS. 


silver rags, still weeping and moaning when the 
storms are at their highest, and they recall that 
awful day.” 

Pet drew a long breath. “ And Manitou, what 
became of him ? ” 

“ He still reigns, the legend goes, in the bright 
land beyond the great waters.” 

“And must the princes always be birches? ” 

“Ah, Pet, that is the most beautiful part of the 
tradition. By patient continuance in well-doing, 
by self-sacrifice, by living for others, the poor trees 
may at last make themselves worthy to see the 
king once more as his children, leaving the withered 
tree-house behind. But not until life is done, and 
well done. 

“ So you see, every white birch is eager to give 
its bark for fuel and protection, which is nearly all 
it can do, save to watch over the young trees of 
the forest, as I have told you, to shield them from 
harm. 

“ It is a long time for a birch to wait, some¬ 
times many, many years before even a little child 
will strip off one of its tattered shreds and laugh 
for delight at the pretty bit of silver in its hand, 
little dreaming of the prince whose garment it is ; 


A MOUNTAIN CAMP. 


57 


but the tree quivers with joy at the thought that 
it has made one of these little ones happy for even 
a moment, for so it has become more worthy to 
meet the king.” 

As Mr. Percival finished, Ruel returned from 
the summit of Saddleback. 

“You’d better get the things into camp, and 
foller ’em yourselves. There’s a storm cornin’. 
The wind’s jest haowlin’, over in the birches on 
the west side of the maounting.” 


CHAPTER X. 


THE STORM. 

I T was fortunate that Ruel made that little ex¬ 
ploring expedition, all by himself, for the 
storm was evidently rising fast. The sun went 
out; clouds rolled up over the western sky until 
it seemed as if evening were coming on ; the forest 
was perfectly silent, except for a troubled rustling 
of the birches, the plash of the brook, and a dull, 
far-off sound like the waves of a distant ocean. 

Mr. Percival drove all the party into the camp, 
and Ruel busied himself in laying on extra poles 
and closing every crack where the rain might beat 
in at the sides. 

Kittie and Bess had been out in a storm before 
with their uncle, so they didn’t much mind it. 
Pet nestled up close beside them, and waited with 
wide open eyes, hardly knowing whether to be 
more frightened or delighted at the prospect. 
Tom was by far the most nervous of the party, 
158 


THE STORM. 


159 


fidgeting about, begging Ruel to come inside, and 
behaving so queerly that Bess declared with a 
laugh that she believed he felt like the princes, 
when the Manitou was coming. As she spoke 
there was an ominous and prolonged roll of thun¬ 
der, and the tree-tops bent under the first rush of 
the on-coming tempest. 

Tom started and turned white to the very lips, 
but answered never a word. 

“ Don’t bother the boy,” said Mr. Percival 
kindly. “ See — the storm is really upon us now !” 

A glittering flash of lightning accompanied his 
words, and was followed by a rattling discharge of 
thunder. Up to this time, not a drop of rain had 
fallen, but now it began to patter like bullets on 
the dry leaves, the fire, and, loudest of all, on the 
bark roof above them. 

Ruel crept in at last, and all seven curled up in 
as small compass, as far from the half-open front, 
as possible. How it did pour! It came down 
in torrents, in sheets, with an uninterrupted roar. 

“ Fire’s gittin’ tired,” remarked Ruel, after 
about two minutes of this ; and sure enough, noth¬ 
ing was left but a few charred brands, steaming 
sulkily. 


i6o 


SILVER RAGS. 


The lightning and thunder now came almost 
simultaneously, flashing and booming until the 
very sky above them seemed ablaze. 

After a few attempts at conversation the young 
folks gave it up, and remained silent. Pet was 
very much frightened and hid her face on Kittie’s 
shoulder, giving a little involuntary cry whenever 
an unusually loud peal of thunder crashed over¬ 
head. 

For a full half-hour the fury of the storm lasted. 
Then it rolled away over the hills and left only a 
light rain falling. It was still far too wet for them 
to leave their shelter, but the party recovered their 
spirits, and Ruel even managed to coax a new fire 
to blaze on the ruins of the old, with the aid of 
some dry bark and sticks he had prudently stowed 
away at the first alarm. The cheerful blaze and 
hissing crackle of the fire were reassuring, and 
voices soon rose again, as merrily as ever. 

“ What time do you s’pose it is ? ” 

“ Three o’clock ! ” 

“ Say, aren’t you awfully stiff ? Do let me move 
my foot a little ! ” 

“ Kit, let’s have a song. That one about the 
pines.” This was from Tom. 


THE STORM. 


161 


Kittie accordingly sang the following lines, to a 
bright little air. They were written by Randolph’s 
brother, she admitted with a blush and a laugh ; 
the tune was in Whiting’s Third Music Reader: 

The pines have gathered upon the hill, 

To watch for the old-new moon ; 

I hear them whispering — “ Hush, be still, 

It is coming, coming soon ; 

Coming, coming soon 1 ” 

The brown thrush sings to his small brown wife 
Who broods below on her nest, 

“Of all the wide world and of all my life, 

It is you I love the best, 

You I love the best! ” 

But the baby moon is wide awake, 

And its eyes are shining bright; 

The pines in their arms the moon must take 
And rock him to sleep to-night, 

Rock him to sleep to-night I 

Kittie’s voice was a soft contralto, and though 
not strong, was very sweet. There were hand¬ 
clapping and thanks in profusion ; then a unani¬ 
mous cry for a story — something about a thunder¬ 
shower. 

These young people, be it said, always called on 
their uncle Will for a story upon any subject, with 


62 


SILVER RAGS. 


as much confidence as you would have in ordering 
roast beef or cake at a hotel, without looking at 
the bill. 

“Very well,” said the story-teller, after a mo¬ 
ment’s reflection, “ I’ll tell you about Patsy’s 
Prayer.” 

“ It was a sultry afternoon in August. In the 
government offices, from the Alleghanies to East- 
port, men were busily making up weather reports 
of what promised to be the hottest day of the sea¬ 
son. Pretty soon, some of them began to find dif¬ 
ficulty in managing their telegraph wires ; the air 
seemed charged with electricity; the men took 
their observations, and worked harder than ever. 
At length the sergeant in charge of one of the 
largest and busiest stations glanced up quickly 
from a bunch of dispatches he had just read, ex¬ 
amined the barometer with a great deal of care, 
made a few notes in a huge memorandum book, 
and scratched off a message, which was handed at 
once to the telegraph operator sitting a few feet 
away. In five minutes the government weather 
officials throughout New England knew that a 
dangerous storm-centre was rapidly moving toward 
them ; and up went their signals accordingly. 


THE STORM. 


163 

“The Brookville farmers had heard nothing of 
all this, but they looked at the sky knowingly, and 
hurried a little at their work. At the quiet old 
Coburn house the ‘ women folks ’ were upstairs 
asleep, in the lull between dinner and supper; the 
men were afield, working with all their might. 

“ ‘I dunno,’ said Patsy, ‘ but I’ll take a bit av a 
walk wid Shock. Sure, they won’t mind ef I’m 
back before tay.’ 

“Patsy Dolan and his four-year-old sister Shock 
(probably so-called in reference to the usual state 
of her hair) were Boston children, who had been 
sent into the country for a week by the Missionary 
Society. Patsy himself was only nine, and knew 
nothing of the world outside of his native city. 
As he stepped out of the back door of the old 
house, leading his little sister, he instinctively 
glanced over his shoulder. Then he laughed a 
little at himself. 

“ ‘ No p’leecemen here! ’ he said aloud, with a 
chuckle. * A feller can kape onto the grass all he 
wants.’ 

“ It was very slow walking, for Shock was not 
an accomplished pedestrian, even on brick side¬ 
walks ; and here the ground was very uneven. 


164 


SILVER RAGS. 


Besides, it must be confessed that her temper was 
rather uncertain, and on this particular hot after¬ 
noon she constantly required soothing. But Patsy 
cared little for this. He had been used to taking 
care of his baby sister almost ever since she was 
born, and he patiently submitted to her whims, 
now stopping to disentangle her little bare feet 
from briery vines, now lifting her in his arms and 
bearing her over an unusually rough spot. So 
they went on, across the field, over a tiny brook, 
through a narrow belt of woods, and out upon an 
open pasture, which bulged up here and there like 
a great quilt, with patches of moss and grass, and 
with round juniper bushes for buttons. At least, 
this was the image that vaguely suggested itself 
to Patsy as he tugged his hot little burden along 
farther and farther away from home. 

“Suddenly he stopped and looked up. 

“‘Sure, it’s cornin’ on night,’ said he. ‘The 
sun’s gone entirely, it is. We must be goin’ 
back.’ 

“ But Shock had reached the limit of feminine 
endurance, and declined, with all the firmness of 
her nature, this unexpected move. She objected 
to that extent that she sat down hard on the 


THE STORM. 


165 


ground, and wailed with heat and weariness. 

“ Patsy was a little nonplussed, for it was grow¬ 
ing very dark. He was acquainted with Shock’s 
resources of resistance, and hesitated to call them 
forth. While he deliberated he winked and winced 
at the same moment; a broad drop of water had 
struck full upon his upturned face. 

‘‘‘Come out o’ that, Shockie,’ he cried, ‘we 
must go now. The rain is a-comin’ ! ’ 

“ Thereupon Shock made her next move, which 
was to lie flat on her back and cry louder. She 
hadn’t begun to kick yet, but Patsy knew she 
would. 

“Another great drop fell, and another. It grew 
bright about them, then suddenly darker than ever, 
as if somebody had lighted the gas and blown it 
out. 

“ Hark! Rumble, rumble, boom, bo-o-m — 
bo-o-m ! Patsy pricked up his ears ; for even a 
city boy knows thunder, though it is half drowned 
by the roar of the wagons and pavements. With¬ 
out more words he dived at Shock, and bore her 
away struggling, across the pasture. It had grown 
so dark that he could not well see where to put his 
feet, so he fell once or twice, bruising his wrists 


SILVER RAGS. ' 


166 

badly. But he managed to tumble in away to save 
Shock, so it didn’t matter. 

“ There was a moaning and rustling sound in the 
far-off forests that notched the horizon on every 
side. Then the wind and the rain joined hands, 
and rushed forward wildly with a mighty roar that 
appalled the boy, staggering under his heavy 
load. 

“ He halted, and crouched in a little hollow. 
The voice of the storm now quite swept away the 
feeble crying of the exhausted child in his arms. 
As he cast a wild look about him, like a hunted 
rabbit, a brilliant flash of lightning showed for an 
instant what promised a refuge which, slight though 
it might be, seemed blessed compared with this bare 
field where the storm was searching for him with 
its terrible, gleaming eyes and hollow voice. If he 
could only reach that spot, Patsy thought, he would 
feel easy. It was a single huge elm-tree, like those 
on the Common, only standing quite alone in the 
pasture. It would be such a nice place in a 
thunder-storm — poor Patsy ! 

“ A dim recollection of the prayers the mission 
people had taught him, came into his mind. But 
he couldn’t think of anything but, ‘ Now I lay 


THE STORM. 167 

me,’ so he concluded to try for the tree first, and 
say his prayers after he got there. 

“ He lifted Shock once more in his aching arms, 
and started. 

“ But God heard his little heart-prayer above all 
the booming of the thunder; and this was how He 
answered it. 

“ The boy was getting on bravely, when Shock, 
whose fright was renewed by the motion, gave a 
sudden struggle. His foot slipped, — down, down 
he went, into a gully that had lain, unseen, across 
his path. The bushes broke his fall, but he lay a 
moment quite breathless and discouraged. But it 
would not do to remain so ; for there was Shock, 
by no means injured, and crying lustily. Patsy 
picked himself up, and felt about him until his hand 
struck the side of a large rock. There was a 
dry place under one side, which projected slightly. 
He reached for Shock, and deposited her in this 
sheltered spot, on some leaves the wind had blown 
in there last autumn. He wished he could get in, 
too ; but there was barely room for one. 

“ ‘ Told, told/ moaned Shock, shivering, and 
drawing up her little limbs. 

“ Without an instant’s hesitation Patsy threw off 


SILVER RAGS. 


168 

his wet jacket, and tucked it round her. In three 
minutes he knew by her stillness and regular 
breathing that she was asleep. 

“ Then he began to be cold —very cold himself. 
Every whizzing rain-drop seemed like ice, striking 
on his bare feet and bruised hands. If he could 
only have that jacket, or put his feet in with Shock 
under it just for a minute ! 

“ ‘ I don’t s’pose she’d know,’ he said to himself, 
with chattering teeth. ‘ But I won’t — no, I won’t. 
A feller must look out fer his sister.’ 

“ Then he remembered the prayers again ; and 
the best thing he could think of was the psalm he 
had been taught only the Sunday before. He cud¬ 
dled up as close to the rock as he could, and be¬ 
gan : 

“ ‘ The Lord is my shepherd — I shall — I shall 
— ’ Here he forgot, and had to commence again. 

“ * The Lord is my shepherd, I shall — not — want 
nothin’. He maketh me to lie down in green pas¬ 
tures — ’ Patsy paused, and peered into the dark¬ 
ness doubtfully. ‘I dunno,’ he said, ‘as I want—’ 

“ He never finished that sentence. And this was 
what interrupted him. A great shimmering, glit¬ 
tering flash, that filled all the air, and at the very 


THE STORM. 


169 


same moment an awful crash — and the storm 
beat down upon a little white face, upturned si¬ 
lently to the black sky. 


“ Hallo — hallo — o — o! ’ The shout rang out 
clear and strong on the evening air. Far off 
among the hills the last rumble of thunder was dy¬ 
ing away. 

“ ‘ They must have gone along here/ cried 
Farmer Coburn ; ‘ hold your lantern, Tom — see, 
there’s their tracks.’ 

“ * Hallo ! hallo — o — o ! — Why, what — ’ 
What makes Farmer Coburn stop so suddenly, and 
then dart forward with one of the lanterns ? A 
wee sound, and a sad, sad sight. The sound is the 
waking voice of Shock, who turns uneasily on her 
bed of dry leaves ; the sight is a little white face, 
upturned to the star-dotted sky. 

“ How those rough men bent over the little fel¬ 
low, the tears running over their cheeks, as they 
noticed the jacket! 

“ ‘ He’s alive ! ’ shouts Tom, with a half-sob, catch¬ 
ing the boy up in his arms, ‘he’s only stunned. 



SILVER RAGS. 


170 

The lightnin’ must have struck round here some¬ 
where, just near enough to knock him over. He’s 
cornin’ to now ! ’ 

“And Patsy comes. He soon as he can talk, 
he tells them about it. 

“ ‘ Why,’ he says, straightening up in Tom’s arms 
(Shock is sound asleep again, with her tousled 
head bobbing on Farmer Coburn’s shoulder at 
every step) — ‘ why, there’s the tree, sure — ’ 

“ The men looked, and turned away with a shud¬ 
der. The noble elm would never again lift its green 
boughs toward the sky. Scorching, rending*, shat¬ 
tering, the red lightning had torn its way down the 
huge trunk, throwing the fragments on every side, 
and leaving the twisted fibres thrust into the air, 
white and bare, in a way that told of the terrible 
force that had had the mastery of them. 

“ Patsy thought it all over very soberly. He re¬ 
membered his prayer and his psalm. 

“ ‘ I dunno — ’ he said.” 

As uncle Will ceased, his auditors were very 
still; thinking, perhaps, how they too had been 
kept safely from the fury of the tempest on the 
lonely mountain side. 


THE STORM. 


171 

Ruel now looked out and announced that the 
storm was over ; and indeed there was hardly need 
of telling it, for the sunbeams came dancing down 
to the little birch camp with the same story. Out 
poured the young folks, the girls holding their 
skirts daintily from contact with the dripping un¬ 
dergrowth, of which, fortunately, there was not an 
abundance. The brook was much higher than be¬ 
fore, and laughed and spoke in deeper tones ; as if, 
like many a young human life, it had grown old 
during the storm, and was no longer a child. 

The whole party now “broke camp” and turned 
their faces homeward. Their feet they could not 
keep dry, of course ; but they were not far from 
The Pines, and they knew that aunt Puss was wait¬ 
ing for them with dry socks and a good supper. 

Down the path they ran, filling the air with their 
shouts and laughter. Ruel came last, with a huge 
bundle of bark, made from the sheets they had 
used on the hut. 

“ No use to leave it there,” he said, in answer to 
Randolph’s laughing question. In a week ’twould 
jest be good fer spiders to live in — all curled up 
in the sun. Daown ’t the house we c’n use it fer 
your uncle’s fires, this tew months.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE GREAT BASE BALL MATCH. 

HERE was great excitement at The Pines. 



X Randolph and Tom had practised several 
times with the Readville Base Ball Nine, as I have 
said, Randolph taking the lead, finally, of the whole 
club. On a certain afternoon, about a week after 
the mountain tramp, a dozen or more boys were 
gathered on the little open plot of ground which 
the Readville people called the “ Common,” eagerly 
discussing a subject which was interesting enough 
to make their eyes sparkle and their voices all 
chime in together as they talked. 

“ Now, hold on, fellows,” exclaimed one of the 
tallest, raising his hand for silence. “ We may as 
well do this business up squarely on the spot. I’ll 
read the challenge, if you’ll all keep still.” 

The boys threw themselves on the ground, and 
in various easy attitudes prepared to listen. 

Randolph, who was speaker, remained standing, 


172 


THE GREAT BASE BALL MATCH. 


173 


and drawing a paper from his pocket, read as fol¬ 
lows : 

“ The Jamestown High School Nine hereby challenge the Read- 
ville Nine to a game of base-ball, to be played on Readville 
Common, on the afternoon of next Saturday, at three o’clock — ” 

“ Next Saturday !” interjected one of the listen¬ 
ers. 

“ — five innings to count a game if stopped by rain. League rules 
to be followed. 

“ Hiram Black, 
“Captain Jamestown B. B. Nine.” 

A chorus of cheers and cat-calls broke out im¬ 
mediately on the conclusion of the challenge ; but 
Randolph raised his hand once more. 

“ The question is, Shall we accept ? Those in 
favor say 4 Aye ! ’ ” 

A tremendous shout rent the air. 

“ Those opposed, ‘ No ! ’ ” 

Dead silence. 

“ It is a vote. Now for positions and players.” 

So far, there had been no dispute as to Ran¬ 
dolph’s authority. He had such a pleasant way of 
getting on with the boys that they followed his 
lead willingly. 

When they came to the choice of positions, 


174 


SILVER RAGS. 


however, there was a little more feeling. As to 
first, second and third base, the matter was easy 
enough. There were two fellows who played short¬ 
stop well, but they were warm friends, and each 
was ready to yield to the other. 

Dick Manning was acknowledged to be the best 
pitcher in town, having a “ drop twist ” which he 
had gained by days of practice, at odd moments, 
behind his father’s barn, and upon which he 
greatly prided himself in a modest way. 

Up to this point all went smoothly. 

“ Now, as to catcher,” said Randolph. “ I know 
it’s a show place, and I don’t want to put myself 
forward. But it’s an important game, and I think 
I understand Dick’s delivery better than the rest 
of you. Bert Farnum is a tip-top hand behind the 
bat, I know ; but — ” 

Randolph hesitated as he saw Bert look down 
and dig his heel into the ground, half sullenly. 

Bert was a graceful player, a strong hitter and 
swift thrower. His chief trouble was uncertainty. 
You couldn’t depend either on his temper or his 
nerve in a closely-contested game. Randolph knew 
this, and now endeavored to smooth over matters 
by suggesting that Bert should play centre-field at 


THE GREAT BASE BALL MATCH. 


17 5 


first, and come in for a change during the close of 
the game, if necessary. 

Right and left-fielders were easily appointed, 
and the boys seized their bats and balls for a 
couple of hours’ practice. 

Bert excused himself gruffly, and wandered 
down by the river alone. He wanted catcher’s 
position for that game, and felt defrauded by his 
captain. 

All the girls from the institute would be sure to 
come and cluster around the in-field, while the 
centre-fielder would be stationed away off by him¬ 
self, with, perhaps, not a single chance to win ap¬ 
plause. 

Bert’s father was one of the wealthiest men in 
town, and the boy was used to having his own way. 

Only yesterday, a fine new. catcher’s mask had 
come up from the city. Of course, he had meant 
to lend it freely to the nine in all their games; but 
now he resolved he would say nothing about it. 
The old mask was nearly worn out, and, if struck 
at certain points, was sure to hurt the wearer. 

If Randolph Percival was so particular about 
catching, he could wear the old thing, for all Bert 
cared. 


176 


SILVER RAGS. 


Having gone so far as this, the unhappy boy 
suddenly hit upon another scheme to obtain his re¬ 
venge. He stopped short and scowled darkly. 

“ I’ll do it,” he said to himself; then turned 
and walked homeward, meditating all the way on 
the surest means to accomplish his purpose. 

It was no less than to bring about the defeat of 
his own companions. How he succeeded will be 
seen. 

There were only four days before the afternoon 
set for the match, and uncle Will found his young 
folks so full of the coming game that they could 
think of nothing else. Tom, who made a lively 
third base, seemed for the time to have forgotten 
his troubles, and entered heartily into the sport. 
Dick Manning came over from the village every 
afternoon, and tried his favorite “delivery” with 
Randolph, who practised catching whenever he 
could get anybody to throw balls at him. He was 
continually enticing little Bridget out to perform 
this duty, which she did with such earnestness and 
energy that he had to fairly beg for mercy. 

It was wonderful to see how the little North 
Street waif expanded and grew, mentally, physi¬ 
cally and morally, in this pure air, and under the 



KITTIE AT WORK. 


I 




















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































. 













































































THE GREAT BASE BALL MATCH. 


177 


gentle teaching of aunt Puss, who had received her 
with open arms. The girl’s sallow cheeks grew 
plump and wholesome to look at; her dull eyes 
brightened ; she worked, or tried to, all day, and 
slept soundly all night. She even learned to play 
a little, which was the hardest of all. When Ran¬ 
dolph had gravely suggested that she could make 
herself useful by throwing a ball at him, out in the 
orchard, she accepted the proposition in perfect 
good faith. 

“ Sure I wull,” said Bridget, taking the ball from 
Randolph’s hand. 

Her throws, he found, were just wild enough 
to give him practice ; while their velocity left noth¬ 
ing to be desired. She flung the ball at him as if 
she were determined to annihilate him on the spot. 
It was only when he rolled over in the grass, laugh¬ 
ing and crying for mercy, that a bewildered smile 
came into her face. 

“ Sure ye tould me fire hard, thin,” she said 
slowly, tossing back her long hair. 

“ So I did, Bridget. And if ever I get back to 
Boston, I’ll propose your name as champion pitcher 
in the League team ! ” 

The little Irish girl having retired, Pet, who just 


178 


SILVER RAGS. 


then came up, offered to take her place; but her 
services were gratefully declined. Pet’s soft but 
erratic tosses were already only too familiar to the 
boys. 

Well, the great day came at last. The wagon 
was filled, immediately after dinner, and the whole 
party, with uncle Will at the reins, drove over 
to Readville. They stationed themselves on the 
edge of the base ball grounds, where Randolph 
said they could obtain a good view, and their team 
would not be in the way of the players. The air 
was warm, but a gentle westerly breeze, mountain- 
cooled, prevented discomfort from the heat. 

By two o’clock, groups of young people, in twos 
and threes, began to stroll toward the Common. 

Already a number of players were on hand eft- 
gaged in vigorous practice, their jaunty uniforms 
showing prettily against the green, closely-cropped 
ball-field. The Jamestown nine wore blue stock¬ 
ings and gray suits ; the “ Readvilles,” white, with 
red stockings. 

The crowd increased. At about a quarter before 
three, two of the players, one from each nine, sepa¬ 
rated at a distance from the Common, and came to 
it from different directions. 


THE GREAT BASE BALL MATCH. 


179 


One of them was the captain of the “James- 
towns,” a rough, black-eyed fellow, whom nobody 
liked, but who was a fine player. The other was 
Bert Farnum. 

As the hour for the game drew near, the excite¬ 
ment in the Percival wagon was at fever heat. Tom 
and his cousins were in the field, practising, and 
the girls watched eagerly every play the two made, 
Randolph wore the old mask, and worked steadily 
with Dick, a little to one side. Quite a crowd of 
Jamestown people had come over to witness the 
game and cheer for their nine, who were considera¬ 
bly heavier than their opponents. The knowing 
ones among the spectators gave their opinion that 
if the “ Readvilles ” were to win, they would have 
to do it by spryness in the field; the “James- 
towns” would bat more effectively, and throw 
well. Bert Farnum was spoken of as a splendid 
thrower, on whom much depended. 

“ They say that Boston fellow, Percival, is a mas¬ 
ter hand,” said one broad-shouldered young farmer 
who had sauntered up within hearing of the wagon- 
party. “Jest look at him now, practisin’! 
He ketches them swift, twisty balls like clock¬ 
work ! ” 


i8o 


SILVER RAGS. 


Kitty and Bess pinched each other, and their 
faces glowed with pride. 

“ I knew it,” whispered Kittie confidentially to 
Pet, “ but I like to hear somebody else say it, just 
the same.” 

Further conversation was suddenly hushed by 
a movement among the players. Three o’clock 
had arrived, and in presence of the umpire the two 
captains tossed up a cent. The “ Readvilles ” won 
the toss, and sent their opponents to the bat. 

As the red-stockings walked past them into the 
field, the Jamestown captain winked at Bert, who 
nodded slightly in return, blushing at the same 
time and glancing over his shoulder to see if he 
was observed. 

“ Low ball — play ! ” called the umpire. 

Dick Manning drew himself up, looking care¬ 
lessly about the field ; then suddenly, with a swift 
movement, sent the white ball whizzing directly 
over the plate, about two feet from the ground. 

“ One strike ! ” shouted the umpire. 

The Jamestowner looked surprised, and before 
he had gathered himself for the next ball it was 
past him again and in the hands of Randolph, who 
waited till the umpire called “Strike, two!” and 


THE GREAT BASE BALL MATCH. 1 8 1 

then ran up behind the bat, adjusting the old mask 
over his face. 

The next two balls delivered were wide. The 
third was just right, and the Jamestowner hit with 
all his force. It soared far up in the air, toward 
the centre-field. 

“ Bert! Bert Farnum ! ” cried Randolph as two 
or three of the fielders started for the ball. 

Bert ran, and stretched out his hands — a little 
awkwardly, his friends thought. The next moment 
the ball struck the ground six feet away, and the 
striker was safe on second base. 

A prolonged “ Oh-h-h ! ” came involuntarily from 
the crowd, and Bert returned with a sullen air to 
his station, after fielding the ball. 

The Jamestowns now succeeded in getting the 
striker and another man round the bases. Ran¬ 
dolph put out the third, by running a long distance 
under a foul fly, almost reaching the wagon before 
he secured it. 

The “ Readvilles ” were retired without making 
a run. Score, 2 to o, in favor of Jamestown. The 
girls clenched their hands in silence, while the 
Jamestown people on the other side of the grounds 
cheered lustily. 


182 


SILVER RAGS. 


The game proceeded, and was contested hotly 
at every point. The visitors seemed possessed 
with but one ambition, and that was to knock the 
ball down to centre. Time and again it started in 
that direction, but dropped short, or into the hands 
of one of the other fielders. 

At last the ninth inning was reached. The 
score was a tie — eight to eight. “Jamestown” 
came to the bat, and two men went out in quick 
succession, one on a foul fly, the other at first base. 
The third striker got the ball just where he wanted 
it, and sent it high up in Bert’s direction. 

Now, Bert had already begun to repent of the 
treacherous part he was playing. Here was a 
chance to redeem himself. He made a desperate 
run backward for the ball, but tripped and fell just 
as it was coming to his hands. Again he heard 
that long note of dismay from his friends. The 
sound nerved him. Leaping to his feet, he darted 
after the ball like a deer, and, picking it up lightly, 
as it rolled, faced about. The runner was making 
the round of the bases, amid the shouts and jeers 
of the Jamestown people who had come over to see 
the game. 

Bert gathered himself for a mighty effort, and, 


THE GREAT BASE BALL MATCH. 1 83 

drawing back his arm, threw the ball with all his 
strength. Randolph was waiting for it eagerly, with 
his foot on the home-plate. It seemed impossible 
that the ball could get therein time, and the James- 
towners cheered more lustily than ever, as the blue 
stockings went flying along the base-line toward 
home; but still more swiftly came the ball, sent 
with unerring aim from Bert’s far-away arm. 

Just a wee fraction of a second before the run¬ 
ner touched the plate the ball settled into Ran¬ 
dolph’s hands, which'swung round like lightning, 
and Jamestow'n was out — score, 8 to 8. 

On coming in with his side for their last turn at 
the bat, Bert found himself all at once a hero. 

“ Never was such a throw seen on the grounds ! ” 
they said; and poor Bert hung his head, and 
answered not a word. 

The spectators were now fairly breathless with 
excitement. The score tied, and Readville at the 
bat for the last time. 

Tom, whose turn it was, took his place amid 
encouraging shouts from his side. After a nervous 
“ strike,” he made a good hit that carried him to 
second, where he seemed likely to be left, as the 
next two at the bat struck easy flies, and went out. 


8 4 


SILVER RAGS. 


It was Bert’s turn. Heretofore he had purposely 
struck out every time he came to the bat. Now 
his hands clenched the stick firmly, and he braced 
his feet as if he meant business. The crowd saw 
the slight movement, and cheered to encourage 
him. 

“ Strike one! ” called the umpire, as the ball 
flew over the plate a little higher than Bert wanted 
it. 

“ Strike two ! ” 

Still not just right. Bert waited calmly. The 
crowd were silent, and looked downcast. Suddenly 
they gave a wild cheer. Hats were flung into the 
air, and handkerchiefs waved. Bert had made a 
terrific hit, sending the ball far beyond the right- 
fielder. In another moment Tom had reached 
home, and scored the winning run — score, Read- 
villes, 9 ; Jamestowns, 8. 

The great match was finished. 


CHAPTER XII. 


HUNTED TO EARTH. 



S soon as the excitement over the base-ball 


A- match had died away, Tom’s moodiness 
returned. It was now near the end of August, 
and the little party at the Pines began to show 


signs of breaking up. Kittie and her sister, with 


Tom, were to meet their father and mother at Port¬ 
land on the twenty-fifth of the month, returning to 
Boston in season for school. Randolph, too, was 
due in the Latin School ranks on September fifth ; 
Pet received a letter from her family, telling her to 
join them at the mountains at about the same 
time. 

As the remaining days of vacation rapidly dwin¬ 
dled, the fun, on the contrary, increased. Bert 
Farnum had a long talk with Randolph, shortly 
after the match, and made a clean breast of his 
treachery, telling him how he had suffered from re¬ 
morse at the unmanly part he had played in the 


SILVER RAGS. 


186 

earlier part of the great game, and how repentant 
he was for the whole affair. The result of this con¬ 
fession was that the two boys became firm friends, 
and Bert, in company with Dick Manning and a 
good-natured sister Polly, often joined the Bostoni¬ 
ans in their mountain tramps, hay-cart rides, and 
other good times. 

Old Sebattis and his wife were reported as en¬ 
camped near the county road, fifteen miles away. 
Of course, nothing had been heard of the watch, 
the secret of its whereabouts being locked in the 
breast of one unhappy boy. 

One hot, sultry afternoon, when the rest had 
gone off to the woods on a picnic, Tom started 
alone for his favorite hiding-place in the cliff near 
the alder run. He walked slowly down the path, 
looking neither to right nor left, and seeing noth¬ 
ing of the beauty of flower and bird and tree about 
him. He was saying over and over to himself, 
“ I’ll do it ! I won’t stand it any longer ! I’ll do 
it this very afternoon ! ” 

He made his way across the field, down through 
the pasture, and along the dry brook-channel to the 
drooping beech-tree. Glancing about him care¬ 
lessly, from mere habit, he swung himself up to the 


HUNTED TO EARTH. iS? 

trunk and clambered into the snug nook among the 
ferns. 

Had he, for once, scrutinized his surroundings 
more earnestly, and peered around the corner of 
the large fallen bowlder at the foot of the cliff, he 
might have seen two dark eyes fastened upon him, 
from among the undergrowth. Their gaze was so 
full of spite and low cunning that it would have 
been well for Tom had he caught a glimpse of them 
and sprung away at once. But without a thought 
of danger, his mind concentrated on one object 
alone, he reached his high perch, and seated him¬ 
self on a rock to regain his breath. 

Already his face had a better expression than it 
had worn for weeks. His lips were set, as if with 
a firm and noble resolve ; his eyes flashed with the 
light that always shines full on the face that is 
turned toward the Right. It was plain that Tom 
had made up his mind at last, and was happier for 
it, whatever might be the consequences. 

After resting a few moments, he carefully re¬ 
moved a few odd bits of stone and moss from the 
mouth of a crevice in the rock, and drew out Pet’s 
watch. He at once examined it thoroughly, holding 
it to his ear as he had done on a previous occasion. 


SILVER RAGS. 


188 

“ Yes,” said he to himself, with great satisfac¬ 
tion, “ it’s all right. One good rub, to brighten it up, 
and in fifteen minutes it shall be in uncle Will’s 
hands.” 

He drew a piece of flannel from his pocket, and 
polished the case of the pretty little timepiece, in¬ 
side and out, until it shone so that he could see his 
own face reflected in the gold. Then he placed it 
carefully in an inner pocket, and rising to his feet 
with a sigh of relief, stepped down toward the 
slanting trunk of the beech, on which he was pre¬ 
pared to descend, as usual. 

He had no sooner stooped for this purpose, how¬ 
ever, when he started back with an involuntary cry 
of alarm. 

About six feet below him, staring upward with a 
face full of malignant cunning, was Sebattis Me- 
gone, in the very act of seizing the swaying limbs 
of the tree to mount the ledge. The moment he 
saw that he was detected, he released his grasp on 
the boughs, and stood still, looking up at Tom with 
an ugly grin. 

“ Ugh ! ” he grunted, Indian-fashion. “ What 
boy do on rocks ? What he want in woods ? ” 

Tom glanced about him hastily. If the man had 


HUNTED TO EARTH. 


I89 

evil intentions, there was no way of escape. It 
seemed as if he could feel the little watch beating 
against his own heart. He tried to answer with an 
appearance of carelessness. 

“ I come here most every day and read,” he said. 
“ It’s cool in the woods.” 

“What climb up high for? ” 

“There’s a good place here to sit down. I like 
to be alone, sometimes, don’t you, Sebattis ? ” 

The good-will of the tone was lost on the Indian, 
who evidently knew more than he cared to tell. 

“Where Gold-hair’s watch?” he asked suddenly 
and fiercely, to throw Tom off his guard. 

“It was lost that day she fell into the lake.” 

“Yis. Me remember. See!” and Sebattis 
scowled darkly as he laid his hand on a scar where 
the broken window, probably, had cut his forehead. 

“I am sorry you were hurt,” began Tom, ner¬ 
vously. 

“You know where watch is. Give me!” 

“Why do you think I know about it?” Tom 
wanted to gain time. His only hope was that 
some one might stray down into the woods within 
reach of his voice. As to the cliff, he knew well 
enough, for he had often examined it, and even 


SILVER RAGS. 


190 

tried the feat in fun once or twice, that it could 
not be scaled. From the hollow where he stood, 
the face of the rock slanted outward above him, 
rendering escape in that direction out of the ques¬ 
tion. 

“If you no give me, I come up and take watch 
— maybe hurt you! ” snarled the Indian in his 
guttural tones. 

“ Hold on,” said poor Tom, at his wit’s end; 
more anxious, now, for the safety of the watch than 
for himself. “It will be easier for me to come 
down than for you to climb way up here.” 

“ You come then — quick ! ” 

The man was plainly growing angry, and laid his 
hand on his knife as he spoke, by way of menace. 

But Tom had no idea of coming down. Instead 
of that, he suddenly drew back a step, and shouted 
at the top of his lungs, 

“Help! Help! Tim, uncle Percival! Help! 

For a moment the Indian seemed taken aback 
at this unlooked-for move, glancing fearfully over 
his shoulder as if he expected to hear Tim’s sturdy 
footfalls. Then his rage got the better of him, and, 
grasping the branches once more, he began to 
clamber upward 


HUNTED TO EARTH. 


191 

Fortunately, being rather stout, he could not 
manage the ascent quite so nimbly as Tom. The 
boy, pale as death, sprang back into the furthest 
corner of the cavity, intending to fight to the last, 
in defence of the watch, the loss of which had 
brought such sorrow to Pet, and such disgrace and 
unhappiness to his own summer vacation at his 
uncle’s. 

What would have been the result of such a strug¬ 
gle, I cannot tell. The Indian was armed, and the 
boy would have been but a baby in his hands, if the 
issue depended upon mere strength. But at this 
moment a strange thing happened. 

When Tom drew back into the hollow formed by 
the angle of the rocks, he crowded in among the 
ferns and thick moss further than he had ever been 
before. As he did so, he threw one despairing 
look about him for a weapon. What seemed to be 
a loose stone caught his eye. It was covered with 
many years’ growth of lichens, but it came up 
easily in his hand. As he was stooping to raise it, 
what was his astonishment to find beneath it a dark 
opening into what appeared a sort of inner cave, 
the mouth of which had been concealed by rubbish. 

With the instinct of a hunted animal, as he heard 


192 


SILVER RAGS. 


the boughs of the beech-tree creak under the weight 
of his enemy, he tore aside the rocks and moss 
which were easily dislodged and in a moment more 
he was in the hole, pulling the largest stone within 
reach over the mouth of his strange retreat as he 
disappeared within it. 

His first sensation was one of relief. The In¬ 
dian, he knew, would hesitate about entering a trap 
like this, where his unseen foe might spring upon 
him from any side. Already his footsteps were 
heard, on the stones above, and his short, surprised 
grunt when he found his victim had sunk into the 
ground like a mole. He was beginning to cau¬ 
tiously remove the rubbish from the opening, when 
Tom thought it was time to beat a further retreat. 

At first, plunging suddenly into darkness out of 
the sunny afternoon, he had been able to see noth¬ 
ing. Now the few rays of light that entered ena¬ 
bled him to distinguish the nature of his surround¬ 
ings. He found that he was in a little rocky cham¬ 
ber, perhaps ten feet square and half as many high, 
partly natural and partly cleared by the hand of 
man ; as he could tell by the regular arrangement 
of stones here and there. At the further end was 
a blacker space than anywhere else. He moved 


HUNTED TO EARTH. 


193 


across the cave, and found that this was the en¬ 
trance to an inner tunnel or passage-way, apparently 
leading to still further recesses. The Indian had 
now ceased work, and Tom felt more nervous than 
when he could hear him scratching and digging at 
the mouth of the cave. There seemed nothing for 
it but to keep on, in the black passage, where the 
darkness, at least, would favor him. He had to get 
down on his hands and knees, as this inner open¬ 
ing was less than three feet in diameter ; and in 
this way he crawled ahead, into the depths of the 
little cave. 

Up to this moment he had never stopped to rea¬ 
son out the possible cause for such a queer, under¬ 
ground chamber. Now it suddenly flashed upon 
him that it must be the secret passage-way that his 
uncle had told about ; for although Tom had not 
been in the room when Mr. Percival had described 
this ancient provision for escape in case of sudden 
attack, he had heard his sisters speak of it after¬ 
ward. Where it came out, he did not know; but 
the thought that he must be moving toward the 
house gave him new courage. 

Making as little noise as possible, he crept along 
the passage-way, hoping every minute that it would 


194 


SILVER RAGS. 


expand to a size sufficient to allow of his walking 
erect. After a short halt for rest, he started on 
again, having made such good progress that he be¬ 
lieved he must be half way to the house. Two or 
three times he bumped his head, but he paid little 
attention to bruises. So far he was safe, with the 
watch in his pocket, from his ugly pursuer. 

He had not gone a dozen feet, however, when he 
came to a second halt, his heart beating fast. What 
was the matter with the boy ? With a good chance 
of escape before him, and half of the tunnel passed, 
he ought to have been pressing.forward. But here 
he was, crouching almost flat to the earth, stock 
still, as if afraid to advance another inch. What 
could be the matter? Tom could have told you 
very quickly, what he had been suspecting for the 
last five minutes, and what was now true beyond 
a question. The passage-way was contracting! 
Instead of growing wider and higher it was now so 
small that he could barely squeeze through on his 
hands and knees. Presently he lay down at full 
length, and wriggled along, the perspiration pour¬ 
ing from every inch of his body, the earth falling 
in a fine shower about his hair and neck. What if 
the tunnel should come to an end ? Should he re- 


HUNTED TO EARTH. 


>95 


main there wedged in this terrible place, buried 
alive? Ah, this was not all that made Tom trem¬ 
ble, and urge his way still more earnestly through 
the narrowing tunnel. When he had paused, a 
moment before, he had heard, plainly as through a 
speaking-tube, a slight disturbance, a sound of 
scratching, the fall of a distant rock in the passage 
behind him. He could not hide from himself the 
meaning of those sounds. The Indian had explored 
the cave, had discovered his method of escape, and 
was now actually in the tunnel, in close pursuit, 


CHAPTER XIII. 


FOUND AT LAST. 

M R. PERCIVAL had spent a busy half-day 
in the open air, superintending matters 
on his farm. There were early potatoes to be dug, 
heavily laden branches of apple and pear trees to 
be propped up, and a small, low-lying piece of 
meadow-land to be mown. Slowly the deliberate 
oxen had plodded to and fro, with the heavy cart 
creaking and thumping behind them ; while Tim 
or Ruel tramped beside, urging them on with an 
occasional “ Haw ! Ha’ Bright ! Gee ! Star ! ” 

Mr. Percival was a good farmer, and nothing 
“ shiftless ” could be found on his place. The barn 
was always fresh and sweet, fences and walls up¬ 
right ; and.even the pigs seemed to enjoy a clean, 
dry corner in their pen where they could lie in the 
sunshine and grunt contentedly in their sleep. 

In the afternoon the men had their work well 
laid out, and the master retired for an hour or two, 
196 


FOUND AT LAST. 


197 


as was often his custom, to the “ Den.” The little 
windows, above and on the side, were wide open, 
the air that floated in was cooled by the shadows 
of the many-elled old house. Now and then came 
the faint sounds of Tim’s encouraging shout to 
his oxen, a cackle or long-drawn crow from the 
poultry-yard, the bark of a dog, digging at a squir¬ 
rel-hole under the wall. 

Mr. Percival stretched himself out comfortably 
in an old cane-seat chair, having taken from its 
shelf a copy of Thackeray’s “ Henry Esmond,” 
and began to read. As the story was perfectly 
familiar to him, he opened the book in the middle, 
striking into the narrative where Colonel Esmond 
— one of the finest gentlemen in story—went to 
the wars under gallant old General Webb. 

The air was soft and warm, and the out-door 
rustle of wind and bough so soothing, after the 
hard forenoon’s work, that Mr. Percival’s fancy 
began to play him queer tricks. He thought that 
lovely Beatrix Esmond was nodding and smiling to 
him through the little casement, and he was about 
to speak to her when he returned to consciousness 
with a start, laughed to himself as he saw the bit 
of apple-bough, with sunlight playing on the leaves, 


igS 


SILVER RAGS. 


that had tricked him ; fixed his eyes on the book 
again, read six lines, and went sound asleep. 

His dreams still followed the course of the book 
he bad been reading. He thought he was in Eng¬ 
land, and that Ruel was the exiled heir to the 
throne, whom it was his business to support ; but 
that aunt Puss persisted in wearing diamonds at 
court and purring constantly (the maltese kittens 
had trotted into the Den and one of them jumped 
into Mr. Percival’s lap) while Ruel himself pro¬ 
ceeded to ride about the room on a base-ball bat, 
in a manner quite inconsistent with royal dignity. 
Beatrix then came on the scene, but she talked 
with a brogue and confided to him, Mr. Percival, 
that her real name was Bridget, and that she had a 
yoke of oxen which were trained to gallop off with 
a fire-engine at every alarm. In fact, the oxen 
(who had been all the time eating hay behind Ruel’s 
throne) now advanced, and holding a hose-pipe in 
their paws — they were now very large red cats, 
he noticed carelessly — began to play on the 
fire. 

The curious part of it was that the hose-pipe did 
not play water at all, but cannon-balls. Indeed, it 
was not hose, on closer view, but cannon, which 


FOUND AT LAST. 


199 


aunt Puss, commanding the English forces, was 
firing against the French. 

Boom ! Boom ! went the cannon. The noise 
of the conflict was terrible. Aunt Puss stopped 
purring and rode off on one of the cats, which were 
now oxen once more. 

Boom ! Boom ! Boom ! It fairly shook the room 
— no, the fort — that is — yes — what! — could it 
be? Mr. Percival rubbed his eyes and sat upright 
in his chair. Thackeray had dropped upon the 
floor ; a few gray hairs in his lap, and a fading sens¬ 
ation of warmth in the same locality, betrayed the 
recent presence of Kittie. But — 

Boom ! boom ! boom ! The cannonading went on ! 
Now fairly awake, Mr. Percival recognized the fact 
that there was an energetic pounding against the 
floor directly beneath his feet. 

“ Bless me! ” exclaimed the good man aloud, 
jumping up and surveying the carpet suspiciously, 
“ what can it be ? ” 

The cellar, he knew, extended under the Den. 
That is, the base of the old chimney had been 
there, and — ah ! that long disused passage ! The 
little stone chamber under the arches, where one 
could stifle so easily, the girls had thought! A 


200 


SILVER RAGS. 


muffled cry, sounding strangely like “ Help ! ” now 
accompanied the blows, which seemed lessening in 
force. 

Hesitating no longer, and dismissing from his 
mind the silly ghost-stories that had been handed 
down in the family, from old times, he knelt and 
tore up the strip of straw matting that covered the 
spot at which the blows seemed to be directed ; at 
the same time knocking back, in answer. 

“ It may be some of the boys’ fun,” he said to 
himself, “ but it won’t do to run any risks.” 

The straw matting being removed, there ap¬ 
peared a square, dimly marked out in the flooring, 
by the edges of boards which had apparently been 
let in, long after the neighboring portions. 

“ The old trap-door ! ” 

Mr. Percival recognized the place instantly; at 
the same time he was puzzled to know how to act. 
For the door had long ago been removed, and these 
short sections of planks nailed down in its place. 

“ Hold on ! ” he shouted. “ I’ll be back in a min¬ 
ute ! ” 

Very nimbly, for a man of his years, he hurried 
out of the room, and presently returned with tools 
— an axe, a large, heavy chisel, a saw, and a kind of 


FOUND AT LAST. 


. 201 


sharp-pointed hammer, like an ice-pick. With the 
aid of these, he soon had the end of one board, 
then another, pried up. It must be confessed that 
he was startled by the apparition that emerged 
from the opening thus effected. Could that be 
Tom ! A face, deadly white, but streaked with 
perspiration and dust, and bleeding from a bruise 
on the forehead ; clothes, hands, every part of him, 
covered with dirt; eyes half-blinded by the sudden 
light, form trembling from head to foot; it was 
altogether a strange figure to come up through 
uncle Will’s floor — but Tom it was, beyond a 
doubt. 

“ O uncle Will,” he sobbed brokenly, the tears 
running over his mud-stained cheeks, “ I’m so 
sorry. Here’s the watch ! ” 

And to Mr. Percival’s utter bewilderment, the 
boy laid Pet’s little watch in his hands, safe and 
whole. 

It was a long story, but Tom managed to tell it. 
At the very first, he spoke with a shudder of the In¬ 
dian, and Mr. Percival despatched Ruel and Tim to 
the woods, rightly judging that the pursuit of Tom 
had ceased. The men returned within a few minutes 


202 


SILVER RAGS. 


and reported that Sebattis had been seen limping 
away toward the road, covered with mud. He had 
turned and shaken his fist at them, but on the 
whole seemed more frightened than angry, and 
mainly anxious to get as far away from the farm as 
possible. 

“ And now about the watch,” said Mr. Percival 
gravely, but kindly, as soon as the farm-hands had 
left the room. 

Tom hung his head still lower, but launched 
manfully into his confession. 

“ I took it out of Pet’s pocket for fun,” he said, 
“ very soon after we started on our walk, that morn¬ 
ing. Then I tucked it into Kitty’s sacque, with 
the chain hanging out.” 

“ Where Moll saw it! ” exclaimed Mr. Percival, 
a light breaking in on him. 

“Yes, sir, I suppose so. After that, we came 
to the Indians, and Pet fell into the pond, and I 
forgot all about it. Just as I was going to bed, I 
heard the girls say something about a watch being 
lost, and it came to me that it was my fault. I felt 
awfully about it that night, and hardly slept a bit. 
Next morning I tried to get a chance to tell you 
about it — do you remember, sir ? but you were 


FOUND AT LAST. 


203 


busy; and instead of making you hear, or owning 
up at once, about my carelessness and foolish trick, 
I thought I would put it off; perhaps the watch 
would be found ; perhaps the Indians took it, after 
all.” 

“ But why didn’t you tell me frankly, that after¬ 
noon, my boy ? ” 

“I was ashamed to; and after the trial, it was 
all the harder. Then — I found the watch ! It 
was tucked into an old stump, near the spot where 
the Indian babies, the little pappooses, had been 
playing. I suppose one of them had picked it up 
and hidden it there. 

“ Now was the time, I know, sir, when I ought to 
have told. But every minute made it harder. I 
was afraid Randolph would be ashamed of me, and 
the girls wouldn’t like me, and you would be angry 
for all the trouble I had made, and the expense of 
the sheriffs and everything. Besides,” continued 
the boy eagerly, “really and truly, sir, I did mean, 
every day, to give the watch back — every day. 
But — somehow — it grew harder and harder, and 
I didn’t. It began to seem now as if I had stolen 
it!” 

It was a poor, miserable story of a weak boy’s 


204 


SILVER RAGS. 


foolishness ; for Tom was weak, and cowardly, too. 
A little manliness at the start would have prevented 
all the shame and wretchedness. 

Don’t you see how he could do it ? Do you 
wonder how he could wish to keep the secret, for 
such silly reasons ? 

Stop a moment. Are you quite sure that you 
yourself would have done differently ? Have you 
not, even now, some little uncomfortable secret 
hidden in your heart, that you had rather father or 
mother would not know ? If you have, let me beg 
you to turn down a leaf, or put in a book-mark, at 
this very page, and go this moment to those dear 
hearts who are so ready to hear everything and 
forgive everything with that wonderful love of 
theirs which is most of anything on earth, like the 
love of our Father above. 

Tom kept nothing back, but related all his faults, 
his concealments, his misgivings. At length his 
narrative reached the point at which we stopped 
in the last chapter, where he felt the passage nar¬ 
rowing, and the Indian following behind. 

“I made one more push,” he said, “and this 
time wasn’t I glad to find that the tunnel was just 
a little larger? It was like an hour-glass; and I 


FOUND AT LAST. 


205 


bad passed the narrowest part, in the middle ! As 
soon as I was sure of this, I felt about for some 
means to block the passage of the Indian. I dug 
with all my might into the earth, and pretty soon 
struck a good-sized rock. This almost filled the 
space, and, with the loose dirt around it, I hoped 
would discourage Sebattis — as I guess it did. 

“I struck my forehead on a sharp stone and made 
it bleed, though I didn’t know that till just now. 
At the end of the tunnel was a little stone chamber 
and a half a dozen wooden steps leading up to the 
floor. These were so old that they crumbled when 
I stepped on them ; but I managed to climb up on 
the side wall, and strike with a rock on the boards 
overhead. I was afraid every moment that the 
Indian might be upon me, and oh ! I was so glad 
when I heard your voice ! ” 

What further words passed between the repent¬ 
ant boy and his uncle, Tom never told. An hour 
later he came out of the Den, walked up to Pet 
(who had returned from her ride) with a white face 
but firm step, and placing the watch and chain in 
her hands, said, with trembling lips, 

“ I took it for fun, Pet, and was ashamed to 
tell — ” 


20 6 


SILVER RAGS. 


He could get no further, and Pet, after one 
glance at his face, forgave him on the spot. Nor 
did she ever ask him a single question about her 
lost watch. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


QUIET DAYS AT THE PINES. 

W HO can describe the long, peaceful days 
of early autumn in the country ? To our 
boys and girls at uncle Will’s, the hours were full 
of delight, though there were no more hair-breadth 
escapes, and no fatiguing expeditions undertaken. 

On the day after Tom’s adventure with the 
Indian, Mr. Percival visited the old ledge with his 
men, and placing a charge of blasting powder in 
the mouth of the cave, tumbled the overhanging 
rocks together in such a way that the passage was 
closed forever. The boy slowly regained his cheer¬ 
fulness, and, rather shyly, took part in the pleasur¬ 
ing of the rest. 

Only two days now remained before the party 
was to break up. 

There was little time for story-telling, for the 
girls were busy, packing various collections of 
ferns, moss, and other memorials of their good 


207 


208 


SILVER RAGS. 


times in field and forest; and their kind host was 
occupied from morning till night, in overseeing 
the fall work on the farm. 

One evening, however, as they were sitting 
under one of the aged elms, near the house, the 
conversation turned upon mountains and moun¬ 
tain climbing. 

“ Did you and that boy — wasn’t his name Fred? 
— ever have any more adventures together ? ” asked 
Pet. 

“ Oh, yes, a good many, my dear. If you’re not 
too sleepy, I can tell you about a bit of a danger¬ 
ous climb I once had myself, when we two were 
abroad together.” 

The moonlight rested softly on the little circle, 
and on uncle Will’s face, as he talked. Pet put 
her hand in his, and begged him to go on. It was 
their last story for the summer. 

“We were both pretty well tired out, one July 
evening when we reached Chamounix. Fred could 
bear mountain climbing, and, what was worse, mule- 
back riding, much better than I, so that, while I 
was glad to find my way to my room, in the top of 
the queer old hotel, at an early hour in the evening, 
Fred remained in the parlor, busily studying up 



QUIET MOMENTS. 























































































































































































































































/ 






























































































































QUIET DAYS AT THE PINES. 


209 


maps and guides for an excursion over the Mer de 
Glace to the ‘ Garden,’ a small, fertile spot, sur¬ 
rounded by eternal ice, in the very heart of the 
mountains. 

“Next morning, he was off at four o’clock, leav¬ 
ing me to spend the day quietly in the valley. I 
was disturbed but once more before rising ; this 
time by a herd of goats, who scrambled along 
under my windows, with bells tingling merrily 
enough. 

“In the course of the forenoon, I strolled away, 
book in hand, following the course of the Arve for 
a little while, and then striking off at right angles, 
up the banks of a small brook, which joins the 
larger stream just above the village. 

“The air was soft and sweet with summer sun¬ 
light and the breath of the silent forests, reaching 
from my feet, higher and higher, until the front 
rank looked on those desolate, glittering fields of 
snow that crown Mount Blanc. 

“ Beside the brook the velvety turf was dotted 
with wild forget-me-nots and pansies, growing there 
as peacefully as if they were not in the very track 
of last year’s avalanche. 

“ At length I came to a spot where the brook 


210 


SILVER RAGS, 


had in ages past strewn its own path with frag¬ 
ments of huge rocks, which it had loosened and 
thrown down from some far-off height, where the 
foot of man never trod. 

“ One gigantic bowlder lay completely across the 
original bed of the stream, and rose like a wall 
beside the water, that turned out of its way, and 
ran off with a good-natured laugh. 

“ The sun here lay warm and bright, just coun¬ 
teracting the chill breeze that came from the gla¬ 
ciers through the narrow gorge. I gathered a few 
dry sticks, kindled a fire, merely for company, and 
nestled comfortably down into an easy corner to 
read the rocks, the brook, the sky, and, if there 
were time left, my book, which, if I remember 
rightly, was ‘ Redgauntlet.’ 

“ How long I sat there I cannot tell. It must 
have been two or three hours, for it was past noon 
when I looked at my watch, threw the smouldering 
firebrands into the brook, and rose to return to the 
hotel. 

“ As I did so, I noticed half a dozen foot-steps 
in the steep, sandy bank that formed the side of 
the ravine at this point. It suddenly occurred to 
me that I had read in my guide-book, while I was 


QUIET DAYS AT THE PINES. 


211 


sitting in ray own room, six months before, of a 
certain waterfall, which, from the description, must 
surely be on this brook. Yes, I recollected the 
base of the zig-zag path, that we had seen as we 
rode along the valley, on our way from Tete Noire, 
late the preceding afternoon. 

“ I was feeling much refreshed and rested by my 
siesta, and, by a short cut up over this embank¬ 
ment, I could doubtless strike that path after a 
three minutes’ scramble, as some one had evidently 
done before me. 

“ So I would have a little adventure, and see one 
of the sights of Chamounix all by myself. 

“ Certainly there was nothing rash in this 
resolve, or formidable in the undertaking; though 
a certain feebleness resulting from a recent ill turn 
at Geneva should have warned me against tasking 
my strength too severely. 

“ At any rate, at it I went, laughing at the 
easiness of the ascent as I followed the broad foot¬ 
steps of my predecessor. My calculation was that 
I should come out on the path at a point about 
seventy-five to one hundred feet above my starting- 
place. 

“ Before I had proceeded far, however, the con- 


212 


SILVER RAGS. 


venient tracks abruptly ceased. Beyond, and on 
each side, there was nothing but the gravelly bank, 
with here and there a big rock ready to drop at the 
lightest touch. 

“ Plainly enough, the first climber had become 
discouraged at this point, and had picked his way 
to the bottom again. As I looked back I was 
startled to observe the elevation which I had 
reached, and I involuntarily crouched closer to the 
earth, with a sensation as of tipping over back¬ 
wards. 

“The movement, slight as it was, dislodged a 
clump of stones and sand, which went rolling and 
and plunging down at a great fate to the brook, 
the sound of whose waters was now hardly audible. 
No wonder the man had given it up! Should I go 
on, or literally back down, as he had done? 

“ My pluck was stirred, and although I heartily 
wished Fred was on hand with his sympathetic 
courage, I resolved to complete what I had begun. 

“It was tough work. Hands and knees now — 
and carefully placed every time, at that. Once I 
nearly lost my balance by the unexpected yielding 
of a large stone, which gave way under my foot. 
How fearfully long it was before I heard it smite 


QUIET DAYS AT THE PINES. 


213 


on the bowlders below! I knew if I slipped, or 
missed one step, the impetus of a yard would send 
me after the stone. As I looked over my shoulder, 
it seemed like clinging to the slope of a cathedral 
roof, where a puff of wind might be fatal. 

‘‘There was no question now as to the course I 
must take. It was ‘Excelsior’ in sober earnest — 
only I didn’t have the inspiration of a maiden, with 
a tear in her bright blue eye, looking on. 

“ Steeper and steeper ! I was panting heavily 
in the rarified atmosphere, and trembling from 
exhaustion. It was so terribly lonely. Nothing 
but the dark forms of the trees, the waste of ice 
and snow, and now and then a bird, winging its 
way silently over the gulf, until my brain whirled 
as I watched its slow flight. 

“By to-morrow they would miss me, and organ¬ 
ize a search, with Fred at their head. They would 
find my footprints beside the brook, where I had 
leaped carelessly across after pansies ; then they 
would come upon the blackened traces of the little 
fire, and the loosened gravel of the steep bank; 
they would look upward with a shudder, and search 
the harder. Pretty soon one of them would lean 
over a crevice among the bowlders, shrink back 


214 


SILVER RAGS. 


with a cry of horror, and beckon to the others. 
All this if I failed by one step! 

“ Still I worked on laboriously, often pausing 
for giddiness or a want of breath, and digging 
with my finger-nails little hollows in the hard bank 
for my feet. 

“ Once or twice a long, tough root of grass 
saved me ; and soon, to my joy, straggling bushes, 
strong enough to support a few pounds of weight, 
thrust their tops through the sand-bed. 

“ Then came scrubby trees, cedar and fir, often¬ 
times growing straight out from a vertical face of 
rock, and quivering from root to tip as I drew my¬ 
self cautiously up. 

“ I shall never forget the agony of the moment 
when one of them came out entirely, and let me 
fall backward. Fortunately its comrades were 
near enough to save me, though it was with rough 
hands. 

“ To shorten the story, I climbed at last out upon 
a small, level spot, which proved to be the longed- 
for path. 

“Following it painfully up for a few rods, I 
reached a little hut, where I found a kind old 
Frenchwoman, who refreshed me with food and 


QUIET DAYS AT THE PINES. 


215 


drink, helped me to make my tattered clothes pre¬ 
sentable, and held up her hands after the demon¬ 
strative fashion of her nation, when she heard of' 
my climb. 

“ ‘ Had any one ever ascended to the cataract 
upon that side ?’ ” I asked. 

“ ‘ Jamais , monsieur; jamais, jamais /’ ” (Never, 
monsieur; never, never.) 

“ And could she tell me the height from the 
valley ? ” 

“ Mille pieds 

“ A thousand feet! Well, I had had mountain¬ 
climbing enough for one day, and after a visit to 
the Cascade, which was close by, I hobbled down 
the easy path and back to the hotel, to read ‘ Red- 
gauntlet,’ until bedtime. 

“ When Fred got back, and heard the story, his 
eyes were round enough, as he declared he would 
not leave me behind again, to play invalid, until 
we came in sight of the wharf in East Boston. 
And he kept his promise.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


GOOD-BYE ! 


HE morning of the last day, at The Pines 



was full of sunshine. Ruel’s voice was 


heard, as early as five o’clock, out by the barn. 
The young folks, by a preconcerted plan, all rose 
at sunrise, in order to make as long a day as pos¬ 
sible, and joined the men, who were milking. 

“Well, well,” said Ruel, looking up from his 
foaming pail, into which the white streams were 
drumming merrily, “you hev got up with the birds 
this time, sartin ! ” 

“ We didn’t want to lose a minute,” answered 
Kittie rather sadly. “ O Ruel, I wish we could 
stay till winter ! ” 

“’Twouldn’t do,” replied the other, shaking his 
head. “ Thar’s plenty to do in the city, an’ every¬ 
body has his place. Sometimes I’ve wished — ” 
but Ruel did not say what he had wished. 

“Ruel,” said Bess, after a moment’s silence, 


GOOD-BYE ! 


217 


u why couldn’t you come to Boston in the winter 
and work. Surely you could earn more money 
there ? ” 

Ruel shook his head again, more soberly than 
before. 

“ My place is here with your uncle,” he replied. 
“ I was born and brought up in these parts. I’m 
at home in the woods, an’ I couldn’t bear to walk 
raound on bricks an’ stones. No, here I be, an’ 
here I must stay.” 

“ But wouldn’t you like to spend a month in the 
city ? You said the other day you had never been 
there.” 

The old trapper seemed at a loss for words, but 
presently answered : “ I can’t jest tell ye haow I 
feel abaout it, Bess, but somehaow I sh’d feel shet 
in, and kept away from the blue sky. What with 
lookin’ aout fer teams an’ horses an’ folks, an’ 
seein’ all sorts o’ strange sights, an’ p’raps thinkin’ 
o’ makin’ money — why, I’m afeerd I shouldn’t feel 
so much of a man. In the woods it’s all so still 
that I can almost hear the trees a-growin’. Then a 
bird flies through the baoughs overhead, an’ I look 
up an’ see all the firs with their leetle crosses, and 
the pines pointin’ up, an’ so I keep lookin’ higher, 


218 


SILVER RAGS. 


an’ thar’s the blue, an’ the clouds, an’ I remember 
who’s up thar, an’ who made woods an’ birds an’ 
all!” 

The little company of daintily dressed boys and 
girls felt awed into silence as they listened to this 
outburst from the rough preacher, sitting on a 
milking-stool, and never forgetting his work, as he 
talked. It was a sermon they would remember 
long after the old barn and The Pines and Ruel 
himself were hundreds of miles away. 

“ What hev ye planned fer to-day ? ” said Ruel 
in his ordinary, quiet tones, breaking the silence 
that had followed his earnest words. 

“O, there’s a lot of packing. The £ silver rags ’ 
are to be tied up, to take home. And we’re going 
to every spot on the farm where we’ve had good 
times this lovely summer ! ” 

“ I was thinkin’ that p’raps you might like to 
wind up with a little fishin’ trip this afternoon.” 

“ O good ! Where shall we go ? ” 

“ Right daown by where we were cuttin’ wood 
last winter — remember? — thar’s a little brook 
that always has plenty of trout in it.” 

“ That’s first-rate! ” exclaimed Randolph. “The 
girls can take a lunch —just a small one, without 


GOOD-BYE ! 


219 


much fuss — and Tom and I will furnish a string 
of trout.” 

“ They’re awful little,” added Ruel, “ but they’re 
sweet’s nuts. You can ketch a dozen in fifteen 
minutes.” 

The boys had been fishing several times during 
their vacation, but had never taken the girls along. 

The forenoon was full of both duty and play. 
Trunks were filled to the brim and sat upon ; great 
bundles of birch bark were tied up and labeled. 
All the cattle received toothsome bits of their 
favorite varieties of food, and were bidden good-' 
bye, with strokings and pattings, all of which they 
received with abundance of patience and long 
sighs. 

Meanwhile aunt Puss busied herself in prepar¬ 
ing an appetizing little lunch for the last picnic, 
and for the morrow’s journey. All the men were 
hard at work in the potato patch and the orchard. 
At about three o’clock Ruel threw down his hoe 
and informed the boys, with one of his quiet laughs, 
that Mr. Percival had given him a half-day vaca¬ 
tion. 

“ Get your party together,” said he, “ and meet 
me in fifteen minutes out here by the pasture bars. 


220 


SILVER RAGS. 


I’ll have the bait ready. You can bring the poles 
you used last Monday.” 

With baskets for lunch and for final collections 
of fresh ferns, the girls joined the rest, and all 
started down the long pasture lane through which 
they had watched the cattle wandering slowly 
homeward so many times during the past weeks. 
By special invitation the little Irish girl was in¬ 
cluded in the party, much to her delight. 

In a few minutes they were in the shade of the 
forest. The pines whispered softly to them, and 
the birches, in the little clearings here and there, 
fluttered their dainty leaves in the sunlight over¬ 
head. No one felt much like talking and almost 
the only sound was the occasional call of a thrush 
or the piping of a locust in the tree-tops. At 
length the brook was reached. The boys rigged 
their fishing tackle and were soon busily creeping 
down the banks of the little stream, uttering an 
exclamation nowand then,as they captured or lost 
a lively trout. 

The girls threw themselves down on a mossy 
bank, close beside a tiny spring which Ruel pointed 
out. There were fir-trees intermingled with the 
pines and hemlocks around it; and on its brink a 


GOOD-BYE ! 


221 


fringe of ferns bent over the clear water. Randolph 
had known of the place before, but his cousins had 
never found it. 

When the fishermen came back, they found lunch 
spread upon napkins, and' awaiting only the trout. 
These Ruel took in hand, dressing and broiling 
them with the deftness of an old camper. Sheets 
of birch bark served for plates, and the boys whit¬ 
tled out knives and forks from the twigs of the 
same tree. Bridget, whose first camping expe¬ 
rience it was, sat motionless, in a state of stupefied 
wonder and delight. 

“Now, sir,” said Pet, addressing Randolph, “we 
need one thing more. As it’s a farewell meeting, 
we ought to have a poem, an original poem.” 

“O, his brother—” exclaimed Kittie. 

“ No,” said Pet decisively, “ that won’t do. We’ll 
give you just twenty minutes to write one, Ran¬ 
dolph. If your brother can do it, of course you can. 
One, two, three, begin ! ” 

Fortunately for the boy, who was extremely con¬ 
fused by the sudden request and the six bright 
eyes bent upon him, he had been in the habit of 
scribbling in a note book such bits of verse as oc¬ 
curred to him when he was by himself; and this 


222 


SILVER RAGS. 


very spring had suggested itself as a pretty subject 
for a poem. When the time was up, accordingly, 
he came forward with the following, handing it with 
a low bow to Miss Pet, who read it aloud: 

DOLLIE’S SPRING. 

Deep within a mountain forest 
Breezes soft are whispering 
Through the dark-robed firs and hemlocks, 

Over Dollie’s Spring. 

Swiftly glides the tiny streamlet, 

While its laughing waters sing 
Sweetest song in all the woodland — 

“I — am — Dollie’s Spring! ” 

Round about, fleet-footed sunbeams, 

In a golden, fairy ring 
Dancing, scatter brightness o’er it, 

Pretty Dollie’s Spring! 

In the dim wood’s noontide shadow 
Nod the ferns and glistening 
With a thousand diamond dew-drops 
Bend o’er Dollie’s Spring. 

Shyly, on its mossy border, 

Blue-eyed Dollie, lingering, 

Views the sweet face in the crystal 
Depths of Dollie’s Spring. 


GOOD-BYE ! 


22 3 


Years shall come and go, and surely 
To the little maiden bring 
Trials sore and joys uncounted, 

While, by Dollie’s Spring, 

Still the firs shall lift -their crosses 
Heavenward, softly murmuring 
Prayers for her, where’er she wanders — 

Far from Dollie’s Spring. 

“ Oh, oh, oh ! ” cried Kittie and Bess together, 
as Pet concluded, “ who is Dollie? which one of us 
is Dollie?” But Randolph only laughed and 
wouldn’t tell. 

With their gay spirits fully restored — for it is 
as hard for boys and girls to keep solemn as for 
squirrels to keep from climbing — they told stories, 
laughed, talked, and raced, all the way home. Sup¬ 
per over, the evening passed swiftly, and bidding 
uncle Will and aunt Puss good-night, they trooped 
off to their rooms for the last time. Tom and 
Randolph were soon asleep, but the girls, I suspect, 
stayed awake for a good while, talking over the 
long, sweet summer days that were ended. At last 
brown eyes and blue were closed. High above, 
out of all reach of night, but shining down lovingly 
into it, the stars kept watch over the old farm- 


22 4 


SILVER RAGS. 


house ; and He who neither slumbers nor sleeps, 
held the weary child-world in His arms. 

Did our young friends return home safely ? Did 
they see much of each other that winter in Boston ? 
Was Randolph successful in school; and how did 
they all pass Christmas ? There is no room here 
for answering so many questions ; but you can find 
out all about them in the next number of this series, 

“the northern cross.” 


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